


Didn't You Flash Your Green Eyes at Me

by VictoriaPyrrhi



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Gen, Human Sacrifice, Implied Relationships, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 12:18:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5665840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VictoriaPyrrhi/pseuds/VictoriaPyrrhi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Star Wars AU]<br/>Soul Eater is a Jedi with a chip on his shoulder, a bounty on his head, and a mission to complete. He's been tasked by Jedi Master Stein to retrieve the pieces of an ancient Sith artefact before it can fall into the hands of Imperial Admiral Medusa Gorgon or her mercenary crew. He wasn't counting on Maka Albarn -- top cadet in her class at the Imperial Naval Academy -- and unknowingly, a Force-sensitive in a galaxy where to be a Jedi is to court death. Together they must find the artefact before it falls into the wrong hands and its terrible power is once again unleashed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Part of me can't believe I managed to finish this year's Resbang. Thank you so much to my wonderful artists, AlliumCepa93 and Phfsiiing, who have stuck with me despite my lack of production -- you both deserved better from me, but I appreciate you so much. To those who betaed, adulterclavis, fabulousanima, Pur, Marshofsleep, Red and Allium, you guys are amazing and your feedback helped me work out a lot of kinks. Also thank you for watching me bitch, moan, cry, flail, and be completely indecisive. Special thanks to Red for his Star Warsing.
> 
> Cheers to Resbang 2015 and "The Road less Traveled."
> 
> Resbang Art by HaleyHams: http://haleyhams.tumblr.com/post/136852189129/didnt-you-flash-your-green-eyes-at-me-written

Chapter One

  
  
  


Maka Albarn drops out of hyperspace about 2 minutes before the rest of her squadron, just outside the orbit of Entralla. She knows that her calculations were correct, that the coordinates were spot on and she didn’t make any missteps. Still, she keeps a watchful eye out, waiting until the rest of her squadron catches up, and vows that she’ll get one of the techs to take a look at her hyperdrive when she gets back to. Grand Moff Mortimer himself had given her training squadron the task of finding and routing a group of troublesome mercenaries, and she’s not leaving until the job’s done. 

 

She runs her scans, but the space around her seems to be relatively clear -- nothing visual or picking up on the scanner. Except -- the computer beeps once, and she frantically looks for the signature. A moment later the rest of her squadron flickers back into existence around her and her comm buzzes with life once again. She shifts a little, trying to get comfortable as she examines the screens again. Whatever her scanner might have belatedly picked up is gone, however. 

 

“Green-1, any sign?” Kid asks.

 

“Thought I saw something, but nothing’s showing up, Green Leader,” Maka replies. “You think we had bad intel that the Hellions would be here?”

 

“Are you questioning the integrity of our intelligence department?” The tone her former classmate, now instructor, takes on is light, but Maka can still make out the hint of warning there.

 

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she murmurs. Her comm picks up the sound of the rest of her squadron snickering. Maka rolls her eyes.

 

She’s about to take them to task for immaturity when the proximity alarms begin blaring, and Maka boosts just in time to dodge an incoming proton torpedo. “ _ Shit _ ,” she hisses.

 

“I thought you said there wasn’t anyone here,” Ox calls. “I’m getting signatures on at least 3 different ships!”

 

“There  _ wasn’t _ anyone here,” she responds. “Scans came up clear. Harv--Green-3, off your port!”

 

His TIE rolls out of the way, but not quite fast enough, and Maka watches as a bit of his foil comes off. He starts spinning, but gets it under control a moment later. 

 

“I’m alright,” he says, voice steady. The Headhunter that clipped him zips by and Maka opens fire. It looks like she might have hit, but the ship doesn’t slow, just banks sharply. There’s one more ship, an old Y-wing, but she can’t get a bead on either of them. Cursing under her breath, she guns it, focusing on catching up to the Headhunter. 

 

“Green-1, stay in formation!” Kid barks. Maka grits her teeth, eases the throttle back a little -- just in time for the second Headhunter to make a run on the right flank of their formation. They must be scrambling their radars somehow. The mercenary ship -- because it  _ has _ to be them -- fires on Green-3 again, knocking out his communications array. 

 

“Can you make it to the surface?” Kid asks. “If you can, make it planetside and send up a distress beacon. We’ll rendezvous as soon as we take care of these ships.”

 

There’s no answering reply, but Maka has to hope that Harvar can still receive transmissions even if he can’t respond. His TIE fighter detaches from the squadron and limps towards Entralla’s atmosphere.

 

“Green-2, 4, 7, 8 -- make sure he gets down properly. Green-1, 5, 6, quad formation.” 

 

She chafes a little at the restriction, but falls into formation. It’s an effective tactic, one that’s been proven time and time again, but it still doesn’t sit right with her. Something about the mercenaries tells her that they’re going to need more than tried and true Imperial strategies to get the better of them. 

 

One of the Headhunters dips, heading straight for Harvar’s contingent. The Y-Wing splits off as well, and Maka’s hand twitches minutely on the controls. She stays her formation, however, heading straight for the second Headhunter. It fires a volley of shots, and slips squeaks under Green-5. 

 

“Watch out for proto--” even as she says it, she knows it’s too late. 

 

“I’m hit!”

 

“Functional?” 

 

“Lost a gun,” 5 replies. “I can stay in.” 

 

As one, the formation turns, but 5’s lagging just enough, and Maka knows the formation isn’t going to work. The Y-Wing doubles back and 5 flinches, giving the oncoming ship enough of a gap that it blows through their formation. The second Headhunter’s gone, and she can only assume it’s gone to help harry the rest of their squadron.

 

“That pilot’s insane,” Green-6 barks. Maka’s inclined to agree. Her computer blips again, that same anomaly that popped up earlier reappears and suddenly, Maka understands why the Y-Wing wasn’t worried about taking on their formation.

 

“Ship,” she shouts. “Kid it’s --”

 

“I see it,” he replies. Their formation is completely blown to shit, and Green-5’s lagging even harder, 6 is  _ useless _ , and Kid’s trying to coordinate two attack fronts. Harvar’s escort hasn’t even hit atmo yet, and all other three ships are reporting damage. She can’t be positive, but she’s not sure either of the Headhunters have been damaged at all.  

 

She’s the only one in a good position to fire on what looks like an old Xiytiar class transport, and it’s not much of a choice as far as she’s concerned. The transport gets off the first volley of shots before she can respond, and any vague hope they had to retaining formation is completely shot to shit. Later, Maka is sure that she’ll be pissed with the inexperienced pilots of her squadron, but now she’s focused on making sure that no one dies during what was supposed to be a simple training mission because of a mistake she made. 

 

Everyone’s checking in with damage to varying degrees, except for maybe Kid, and that’s what prompts her to to get on the comm.

 

“Kid, get them to the surface. I’ll hold them off.”

 

Seconds later, his voice comes through on a private channel. “Are you crazy?”

 

“You know that besides you, I’m the pilot with the most experience here. Get them down safe and I’ll catch up to you.”

 

“That’s exactly why we don’t need you risking yourself; you’re one of the best talents we’ve got and this is -- four to one is suicide,” he spits out.

 

“I can out run them, you know I can. Besides,” she says, eyes still scanning her sensors, “at least two of them will probably chase you down. You can handle them or at least let Nexus City know what’s happening and call for backup. I’m sure I can keep the other two at bay until they get bored or I can slip away.” 

 

The silence is deafening for a moment and Maka uses that time to fire on the larger ship; it’s definitely fast -- much faster than any normal transport ship should be, much less one the age of the Xiytiar, but still no match for the maneuverability of her TIE. 

 

“Shit,” Kid finally replies. “Yeah, ok. Meet us at the Nexus City spaceport.”

 

“I’ll be down as soon as I can shake them,” she promises, already rolling out of the line of fire. She can’t do anything about the two ships that are already on Havar’s escort, but she can make life difficult for everyone else. She fires again on the transport, concentrating more on being fast and bothersome than being a good shot. As much as she’d like to take the mercenary group out, her focus has to be on giving her squadron the best possible chance at escape. 

 

The Y-Wing veers just into her arc of fire, and her onslaught manages to graze one of its wings as she curses under her breath. The Xiytiar remains unscathed and tracks her with one of its laser cannons, dogging her just enough that she can’t really get another volley off. Instead, she takes advantage of the fact that only one cannon seems to be firing, and rather than veer out of the way, she zips underneath the transport before it can turn.

 

She still can’t fire, but she’s not going to risk the engine burnout to pull the 180 that will bring her around to firing position again. Her comm crackles and she can catch the faint sound of Kid’s voice, but the atmospheric static blocks most of the words. Maka catches a visual on the last of her squadron entering into Entralla’s atmosphere and she breathes a small sigh of relief. 

 

Maka turns, preparing to take aim at either of the enemy ships. She has to trust that their plan worked and that Nexus City’s contingent of Imperials would meet her squadron halfway. She has to focus now on getting out like she promised Kid. She goes to fire again, only to find the Xiytiar nearly out of range, and the Y-Wing lingering just enough behind it to present a tempting target.  _ Like a lame bird _ , she thinks.

 

Even knowing that it’s a trap, she target locks on the Y-Wing. It’s just the two of them now, and she burns with the need to prove herself, to prove that this trip wasn’t a complete waste of time and resources. If she can just get  _ one _ of them -- in the end, she’s not quite sure if it’s her sensors failing again or if she just let herself be caught completely off guard. Her TIE rocks violently as it’s hit, alarms ringing suddenly.

 

The two Headhunters must have pulled away from their pursuit of her squadron and come up from behind her. They both zip past her now, firing wildly, and Maka spits out another curse and pulls back. No matter how good of a pilot she is, there is no way to win against four pilots, or even three. Especially not with a damaged ship. Maka fires a volley of lasers at the Headhunters and turns her ship to run along the planet’s horizon. If the mercenaries broke off their pursuit of her squadron, then she’s sure as Sith not going to lead them right back to her compatriots. 

 

Maka flies close enough that she can skim a little extra energy from the planet’s gravity well, boosting her own speed just enough to edge away from the Headhunters. They fire a few more half-hearted shots her way, but she can’t help but get the feeling that they mostly got lucky earlier -- especially since they break off their pursuit not long after.

 

She exhales shakily, and noses her ship into position for atmospheric entry. It rocks and shudders violently, and for a long, tense moment, she’s certain that the Headhunter’s lucky hit managed to really knock something vital out of whack. Soon she’s through though, and no more worse for the wear it seems. 

 

Except that she’s nowhere near Nexus City and the sensors that have been blipping in and out since this  _ stupid _ mission started decide to completely fail her. She skims back westward, towards the direction that she knows Nexus City is in, but there’s no guarantee she’ll be able to find it without proper coordinates. Fortunately, she doesn’t have to wait too long before she catches sight of civilization.

 

Whatever it is, it’s too small to be Nexus City, but it’s still large enough to have a spaceport, and Maka is just grateful that her comms are still working.

 

“Control, can you read me? This is Imperial TIE fighter pilot-trainee Maka Albarn, 42-42-564, can you read me?”

 

“This is Bastion Control, we can read you, pilot.”

 

“I’ve got a ship in need of repairs, do you have a docking bay for me?”

 

“10-4; we can house you in Bay 4; look for the numbers painted on the top.”

 

“10-4, thank you Bastion Control.”

 

Docking Bay 4 feels like it would barely fit a landspeeder, but she manages to wriggle her ship in with inches to spare. For a long moment, she just sits in her cockpit, harness still fastened, eyes almost unseeing. 

 

She’s lucky. Luckier than she has any right to be, even if she is in the wrong spaceport on what may as well be the other side of Entralla from where she needs to be. She’s still in one piece, and her ship shouldn’t require too much in the way of repairs. Maka’s never believed in a higher power, no matter what stories her father used to tell her by the fireside, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t feel grateful in this moment. 

 

Maka releases the catch on her harness and pops her hatch open. She knows that it’s safe -- they’d all read up on Entralla before coming on this mission -- humans are native and its air is made of the same stuff she breathes normally, but TIEs aren’t really meant for planetside survival, and she can’t help but feel just a little off kilter, despite  _ knowing _ that she’s safe. 

 

But despite her hesitance, the spaceport plascrete is firm beneath her feet when she touches down, and really, it looks just like a hundred other ports she’s been in over the years, if maybe just a little more run down than most places she associates with planets under Imperial control. There’s a small contingent of onlookers keeping just outside of her dock that she can see. Knowing port cities, there’ll be someone in that crowd she can convince to get started on repairs, and someone else who can send a transmission to Nexus City and to the rest of her squadron. It still takes her another couple of minutes before she unlocks her helmet and allows herself to breath the planetside air.

 

***

 

Bastion is exactly the kind of city that Soul had hoped he’d never have to spend time in again. Instead, he’s slipping through the streets of a run-down spaceport town on an Imperial world with a not insubstantial bounty on his head in search of an artefact that he isn’t even positive still exists. But Stein had said the Force was directing them to Bastion, and so here he is. 

 

He’s never been comfortable in cities, and it’s just made worse as another contingent of noisy, laughing pilots pass him by on the street. Soul shifts the cowl covering his hair, a reflexive gesture. It’s not like pilots are uncommon in a spaceport or anything, and he tries to roll away the tension building in his skull and shoulders. The odds that any of them are bounty hunters or Imperials in disguise is slim to none.  _ Breathe _ . He exhales, feeling the Force flow and ebb through him. No one knows to look for him here; no one appears to be paying any attention to him, and that’s exactly the way he wants to keep it. He feels a faint nudge, a hint of something that tickles his sense -- bitter chocolate sweet.  He extends his senses through the Force the way Stein taught him and is reassured by the sense of  _ rightness  _ he feels.

 

\--Less reassured because that sense of rightness is coming directly from the spaceport proper, which is pretty much the last place Soul wants to go. Stein’s intelligence hadn’t been terribly specific, which was about what Soul had come to expect from his mentor over the years. The artefact he was in search of was definitely hidden somewhere on this planet, but past that it was anyone’s guess. He would have assumed the artefact would have been hidden somewhere a little more populous, but the Force had lead him here, of all places.

 

He adjusts his cowl again, making sure the tell-tale shock of his white hair is covered, and continues to wend his way through crowded streets, stopping every so often to peer at a seller's wares. He stops just long enough to look like he's genuinely browsing, but never long enough to be remembered by any of the merchants. It's a good strategy -- one that’s served him well on a dozen other planets for a dozen other reasons. And it works right up until an Imperial TIE fighter nearly buzzes the marketplace coming in low and heading straight for the spaceport. The Force tingles again, the faint tug/smell getting stronger which is exactly the thing he did  _ not _ want to happen. 

 

But something he needs is in that spaceport, and he’s going to have to suck it the fuck up and trust in the Force to keep him on the alert for danger. Soul’s long since learned not to expect the Force to keep him safe. He adjusts the hood over his hair once more and moves steadily towards the spaceport proper. He’s not the only one on the move -- Imperial world though it may be, it’s uncommon enough for a lone TIE fighter to be dropping into port like this that it’s going to attract attention. Soul can only hope that it’ll be enough attention that he’ll be able to remain unnoticed in the crowd. 

 

He catches sight of the ship not long after, as he hovers at the back of a group of curious onlookers. It’s a little banged up, but nothing too bad as far as he can tell -- which must mean there’s something wrong with its systems for it to have bothered landing here. He watches as the pilot jumps down from the cockpit -- a little shorter than he would have thought for one of the renowned TIE pilots.

 

There’s a beat, a lull in sound and sense and Soul finds himself holding his breath without really knowing why.

 

Then the pilot removes her helmet. He blinks and feels the Force ebb and flow around them both, and  _ oh _ . It’s about the clearest signal he could have hoped for from the universe and exactly the one he had been hoping not to get. Soul slips through the crowd until he’s nearly at the ship -- her eyes cut over to him, green and piercing. He swallows and pushes his cowl back, stepping out of the crowd.

 

“Need a mechanic?”

 

She looks him up and down, and he didn’t need to be a Jedi to read the skepticism written in her features. 

 

“Depends.  _ Are _ you a mechanic?”

 

Soul shrugs a shoulder. “I’ve been known to dabble. My speciality is really nav systems, but I can find my way around most things.” She steps closer, sizing him up, and it takes most of his willpower to just stay relaxed. 

 

“How much?” 

 

“Depends on what needs done. I can take a look and give you an estimate.”

 

“You take Imperial creds?”

 

He rolls a shoulder again, “If it’s good here, I’ll take it.” She hesitates and for a moment Soul isn’t sure if she’s going to go for his proposition. She nods, holding out a hand. 

 

“Maka Albarn,” she offers. He clasps it and has to still himself against the tide of emotions swirling around the pilot. She stiffens and pulls her hand back, pupils dilated. 

 

“Soul Ea-Evans.” He trips over the name, but she doesn’t seem to notice, still seemingly shaken from their contact. He understands the feeling. Of all the things he was expecting to find out here, it sure as hell wasn’t another Force-sensitive.

 

“I’ll be back in a few,” she says after a beat. She stops mid-stride and gives him a considering look. “You wouldn’t know who I could talk to about getting a message sent to Nexus City, would you?”

 

“That’s not really my business,” he mumbles, carefully dodging her gaze.

 

“Hmph. I’ll expect a quote when I get back, Evans,” she says with the sort of careless authority that Soul’s heard out of the mouths of a hundred other Imperial minions. He does his best to shrug it off and focus on why he’s here.

 

It would be a lot easier, he muses, watching her walk away, if the Force would give him just a little more to go on -- some kind of hint at where the artefact might be -- there’s a tenseness thrumming through him, like time is running out, but he there’s no indication of what could be at the end of that time limit, or where to go from here. With a small resigned huff, he raids a stash of tools near the bay doors and climbs into the cockpit to see if he can figure out what might be the matter.

 

A Jedi has many skills, after all. 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

  
  
  


Considering it’s the largest hub in the city, it feels a bit ridiculous to Maka that she’s been sent to a half-dozen different places in her search to find someone who can send a message to Nexus City. Bastion Control claims their long-range sensors are down -- it’s one of the reasons they didn’t try to hail her before she broke through atmo. From what she can glean, almost no one in the city seems to have any sort of long-distance comms. Either they claim no use for them, or they’re broken.

 

There’s a tension headache building at the base of her skull, pain warring with irritation. The longer she goes without making contact with the rest of her squadron, the more tense and unsettled she gets. She’s just about to try one more business in the vain hope that they have  _ something _ she can use to send a transmission when she hears the all too-familiar whine of a Xiytiar engine. She glances up, because the chances that it’s the same transport are small -- it’s a spaceport and it’s not as though that particular model was unpopular to begin with, especially in the Outer Rim. But the bottom of that transport looks suspiciously familiar, and her heart stops for a moment before she remembers that she’s tucked underneath an awning and there’s no way they could see her.

 

It’s heading straight for the spaceport, of course, and her TIE is still sitting there, uncovered and unprotected because she didn’t even consider that one of the mercenaries would have followed her down -- it doesn’t make any sense why they would have broken off pursuit of Kid and the others only to come back for her. It feels like her heart kicks back into overdrive suddenly, and Maka abandons all pretense of calm, breaking out into a full fledged run back towards her ship. She ignores the wide-open avenues of the city, sticking to less populated alleys and back roads while still moving as fast as she can.

 

Her lungs are burning by the time she reaches the spaceport proper, and she can feel the beginnings of a stitch in her side when her foot hits an object, half-buried in the hard-packed dirt. Maka stumbles and catches herself on her palms and one knee. Above and ahead, the transport is just starting to land, and there’s no way in hell the pilot didn’t see her dinged up TIE fighter just three tiny bays over. Her ship is just in sight and she has no idea what she’s planning on doing. She’s already standing up when the glint of bright metal captures her attention. She wants to examine it, but her brain is still focused on the enemy ship, so she pries it out of the ground and shoves it into a pocket to look at later.

 

She runs through various scenarios as she approaches. So what if the Xiytiar’s pilot saw her ship? What’re they going to do? Break her already busted TIE? Moreover, what’s  _ she _ going to do when she gets there? Confront the mercenaries by herself? If she were in Nexus City, she might be able to count on the port authority to back her up. Here, she’s lucky if there’s even a port authority on the payroll. She skids into sight of her fighter, and for a moment, it’s almost comical because she can see Evan’s legs hanging out of her cockpit. 

 

“Time’s up,” she calls, and he sits up, startled, whanging his head on the bottom of her console. 

 

“F-- _ ow _ . What? What do you mean, ‘time’s up’?” 

 

“Did you get it working?”

 

Soul blinks at her. “Lady, I barely figured out what’s wrong with it, much less fixed it.”

 

“That’ll have to do,” she says, glancing up and over to where she thinks the Xiytiar might be.

 

“Is there something the matter?” he asks, wiping his greasy hands on the hems of his robes. 

 

“Imperial business,” she snaps. She feels a little bad about it, but between the running and her headache, the pressure in her skull is almost overwhelming, and if the mercenaries decide to investigate, the last thing she wants is civilians caught in the crossfire.

 

“You’re not going to get that baby up again for long. Nav systems are completely shot and you’d be flying almost completely blind,” he offers. Seeming to pick up on her tension, he glances over his shoulder. “You expecting trouble, then?”

 

“I’m always expecting trouble,” Maka returns. For a moment, she seriously considers it. She’s a good enough pilot; she might be able to get up and get the drop on the transport before it could respond, even flying blind. But just as quickly as she thinks it, she dismisses the idea. And if she can’t get in the air, then -- “There’s a spare blaster next to the seat,” she says. 

 

Soul grins at her, and she catches her breath. “For me or for you?” he asks, already reaching for the weapon.

 

“Hopefully just for me. Imperial business,” she repeats, though it’s a little less harsh. 

 

Soul can’t help the small, bitter laugh. “An Imperial who cares about collateral damage? That’d be a first.” As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he regrets it -- chances of getting her to cooperate now are slim to none. 

 

She bristles visibly. “What’s  _ that _ supposed to mean?”

 

“Nothing,” he mutters, handing her the blaster.

 

“It’s clearly  _ not _ nothing,” Maka says. “Safety, security, justice, and peace -- that’s what the Empire stands for. Of  _ course _ I’m going to care about collateral damage!”

 

Soul resists the urge to roll his eyes. He’ll give her credit, she seems to believe everything she’s saying, but that’s never been his experience with the Empire. His Force sense twinges danger at him.

 

“Now really isn’t the time for this discussion, I don’t think. Is someone after you?” The irony of  _ him _ asking an Imperial that doesn’t escape him.

 

Her scowl doesn’t lighten, but she lets it go with another paranoid glance at the docking bay doors. “I may have had some trouble with some mercenaries above planet,” she admits.

 

“And you think they followed you down here?”

 

“Well, I’m pretty sure it’s not a  _ different _ Xiytiar-class transport with scorch marks all over it that just happened to dock a few bays over.” 

 

He had noticed the freighter coming in for a slightly shaky landing, but hadn’t thought too much of it. The ship certainly looked like it belonged in the Bastion Spaceport a lot more than Maka’s TIE fighter did. 

 

“And what, you’re going to arrest them?”

 

“It’s my job -- it’s what I do as a member of the Imperial Navy; I uphold the law.”

 

“Even when you’re outnumbered?”

 

“I’m not a coward,” she snaps, and Soul raises his hands placatingly, constantly aware of the thin line he’s walking both as someone who the Empire has deemed a “law breaker” just by existing and as someone who’s trying to get an Imperial Naval cadet to help him out.

 

“No one in their right mind would think that,” he says. “It’s ok to retreat from superior numbers, to regroup.”

 

He can see the considering look in her eyes, even though the stubborn set of her jaw hasn’t changed. He’s about to continue, but time runs out and Soul has just enough warning thanks to the Force to tackle her and roll them both out of the way of the hail of blaster fire that scorches where they were just standing.

 

She ends up on top of him, surprisingly sharp elbows jammed into what feels like every tender bit Soul has. She’s already looking around, scrambling upright to find them better cover. They end up ducking behind a crate and the tool chest Soul had raided earlier. Maka scans the bay and picks out the shooter. 

 

It isn’t exactly hard to spot him, either. The mercenary charges into the bay, laughing maniacally, blue hair a beaming beacon. Maka’s jaw drops. Next to her, Soul blinks.

 

“I was...not expecting that.”

 

“Neither was I,” she replies, peering around one of the crates. “Any ideas for getting us out of here?”

 

“Come on out, Empire dog!” the mercenary’s voice booms through the docking bay. “Don’t think I don’t know what you and your little squadron are doing out here! If you think for one minute the Demon Clan’s going to let you snipe our reward money, you’re in for a nasty surprise!”

 

“Re..ward?” she mouths, glancing at Soul.

 

“Um,” he replies. He really doesn’t want to acknowledge the possibility that the mercenaries she’d been chasing could actually be bounty hunters after him.

 

“Reward for what?” she yells back. “My squadron was sent to bring in your so-called ‘Demon Clan,’ as enemies to the peace of the Empire.”

 

“Pffft. Enemies of peace? That’s rich. Look, I know your people want to make sure that this artefact thing is found, but trying to arrest us to keep us from getting to it first is fucking pathetic, even for an Imperial lackey. Besides, you’re too late, we’ve already got it.”

 

Soul feels his blood turn to ice. This is -- he wasn't expecting that at all. Maka shoots him a curious glance. "Do you have any idea what he's talking about?"

 

"Possibly," he grits out. "I'm really hoping I'm wrong, though."

 

"What does that  _ mean _ ?" she hisses. 

 

"I'll explain it later?" he offers, because the last thing he wants to do is let her out of his sight right now. 

 

Maka narrows her eyes. "Deal, but I expect the full truth from you, do you understand?" 

 

He wonders if she realizes the unconscious compulsion in her voice. Were he not a Jedi, were he a creature of less stubborn will, he would have found it very difficult to resist her command. As it stands, he can still feel the compulsive tug of her words and is glad that their goals are so closely aligned. 

 

"I can do that," he agrees.

 

"Ok. How much go do you think my TIE has?"

 

He raises an eyebrow. "Not much. We're definitely not going to get out of range of the Xiytiar with that thing."

 

"I'm not sure we have to," she says, still eyeing him, and Soul smiles suddenly.

 

"We  _ don't _ have to. We just have to get to my ship."

 

She returns his grin, and it's nearly blinding to look at, he thinks. "And can we?"

 

"We ought to have enough juice to get there. It isn't very far outside of town."

 

"That's what I was hoping you'd say. I can lay down cover if you think you can get to the ship and get the engines warmed up."

 

"It shouldn't take long at all," he replies, already eyeballing the cockpit. It'll be a tight fit, but he thinks that they might be able to make it work. She peeks around the corner and fires three quick shots, hitting the wall closest to the mercenary's position. 

 

He hands over her spare blaster before she can ask -- odds are she'll need it more than he will. Soul exhales slowly, feeling his connection with the Force. 

 

"Ready?" she asks. He nods. "Go," she snaps, and he's already springing up and over their cover, his jump just a little higher, his legs just a little faster than they would be normally. 

 

True to her word, Maka lays down cover fire, spraying the area where the mercenary had been. Dimly, Soul hears the man curse, but he's already diving back into the cockpit and starting up the ignition sequence. He can pick out the sound of a second blaster -- the mercenary's, if he's not mistaken -- firing and hopes that he didn't make the wrong decision in handing Maka's second blaster over. 

 

She ducks back behind the crates, but her cover isn't going to last long. The mercenary is already on the move, trying to get closer so he can either get a better bead on her or get a better position to shoot at Soul. The hum of her TIE's engines starts and that's good. She can work with that, knows the precise amount of time it will take her ship to be ready to go. Maka counts along silently, waiting, waiting -- aware that her advantageous position was rapidly becoming less so. But she only has one shot to get to the TIE and if she leaves too soon, they'll be sitting targets waiting to be picked off. 

 

The engines' whine hits a familiar pitch and she's moving before she can think any longer, both blasters drawn and firing, one in either direction. She sprints as fast as her legs can carry her, twisting as she gets to the ship and firing outwards.

 

"Ready!" comes Soul's voice, and she tosses up her blaster before holstering her spare and climbing into the cockpit. "Shit," she hears Soul yelp and she  _ knows _ she's about to be shot in the back, can practically feel the mercenary rising from his cover and aiming at her. Maybe, she thinks wildly, scrambling into the TIE, it won't be so bad. She's never been shot before, but it's survivable -- Soul reaches out both hands, and she grabs one, barely registering that his other is extended outward, that his eyes aren't focused on her at all.

 

She hears a loud grunt and the sound of something slamming into what she thinks could be one of the crates, and then she's in the cockpit, sliding into her seat. 

 

"IN," she barks, already closing the hatch. Soul snakes backwards too quickly for her to follow the movement. "I don't care where you go," she says, "I just need you away from the console." She's sitting as far forward in her seat as possible, and Soul winces as he tries to slide in behind her and stay out of her way. They're up and almost out of the docking bay by the time Soul has fully settled. She's effectively sitting in his lap, and Maka blames her shaky lift off on the fact that Soul's been jostling her around and that TIEs were never meant for more than one person.

 

Soul spares a quick glance down at the bay; the mercenary is just now getting up, knocked back by the Force push Soul had aimed at him. It’s not going to buy them much time, but it was enough to keep Maka from being shot and it’ll be enough to give them a little bit of a head start. 

 

“You  _ do _ know where we’re going, don’t you?” Maka asks over her shoulder.

 

“Pretty sure I can get us there,” he replies. “I’m not far out of town.” 

 

They head for the edge of town, and it’s only a matter of minutes before they’re free and clear of buildings. Maka can’t decide whether or not that’s a good thing. She can feel Soul pressed against her back and despite air circulation that she knows should be more than adequate, it feels stuffy and overly warm in the cockpit. She spares a thought as to whether or not that’s just another thing on her poor ship that’s failing or if it has something to do with the wiry man sharing her seat.

 

“Bear about 4 degrees west,” he murmurs after a minute.

 

“Is part of ‘I’ll explain later’ going to cover why you felt the need to hide your ship on the ass-end of nowhere?” she finally asks, making the appropriate adjustments. There are a few lights flickering on her instrument panel and she winces.

 

“Maybe,” he says, and she doesn’t have to look over her shoulder to know he’s grinning at her. 

 

“It’d best be,” she mutters. 

 

“Patience.”

 

Maka doesn’t bother hiding her scoff. “That is the last thing on my mind right now. We’re about to lose my ship.”

 

“I know, I can feel it,” he says, leaning a little closer and scanning the horizon over her shoulder. Maka’s not quite sure what to make of that statement. “Can you get any closer to the treeline?”

 

“I’m about as close as I can get without becoming a fucking shrubber,” she snaps, but she makes the attempt to get lower nonetheless. He’s certain his ship is close, which is good because he’s also fairly certain that it won’t be much longer before the mercenary gets up and out and on their trail again. His eyes, sharpened with the Force, catch the faintest glint of grey paint.

 

“ _ There _ ! Down right --” He’s about to give her a bearing when she makes a noise in the back of her throat. 

 

“Oh! I see it.” Maka angles the struggling TIE Fighter towards his hidden ship and he’s still a little surprised that she saw it so quickly. 

 

“It looks like there’s a little hollow over --” He realizes she’s already heading for it, a small smile on her face. A moment later, he remembers that he’d grabbed her shoulder in the excitement, and he releases it suddenly. She doesn’t react, completely focused on landing. It’s not graceful, but at this stage, her fighter is still in nominally one piece, so she’ll take it. “Do you think we can hide this thing before they find us?”

 

Soul exhales. He  _ can _ . He’s just not sure if he should. “We’ll see what we can do,” he replies noncommittally. Maka nods, popping the hatch and jumping to the ground.

 

“I don’t hear anything at least,” she says after a moment of intense listening. “You ready to tell me what this is about, mysterious stranger?” 

 

“We’re not clear yet.” Soul looks back over his shoulder at the very obvious TIE Fighter and back towards Bastion. Maka clears her throat. Arms crossed and stubborn set to her chin -- Soul has a bad feeling about this.

 

“So, what? I’m just supposed to get in your ship with no idea who you are, what you’re doing here, or why I should trust you,  _ Jedi _ ?” 

 

Soul winces at the way she practically spits the word, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. There are a lot of ways that he can frame the truth, but he thinks only one is really going to result in the outcome he wants. 

 

“You aren’t obligated to,” he says. “If I were in your position, I probably wouldn’t trust me at all, but the fact remains that we don’t exactly have a lot of options right now. Long and short of it is that I was sent here to retrieve an ancient Sith artefact, and I think that’s exactly what the Demon Clan is here to do, too.” He glances back again. “Also, I would feel a lot better if we could hide your TIE and get into the cover of my ship before they catch up to us.”

 

She doesn’t uncross her arms, but she does sigh. “Alright. You said we could cover it up?” Soul nods. “That’s going to take forever.” 

 

Soul smiles a little. “Not really. You said it yourself, I’m a Jedi.”

 

It’s a lot easier to hide Maka’s TIE than it was to hide his YT-1300. At the very least, it doesn’t need nearly the same amount of foliage to cover it, and less than 10 minutes later, they’re in Soul’s ship. He doesn’t miss the tension in Maka’s shoulders as she boards, even though she’s clearly trying to hide it.

 

“Looks a lot nicer on the inside,” she says finally, perching on the edge of the co-pilot’s seat. Her eyes are trained on his hands as he begins the ignition sequence. He’s pretty sure that she’s trying to memorize it. He doesn’t bother trying to be secretive. 

 

Soul gives her a look that she can’t quite decipher. “Appearances can be deceiving,” he says mildly and she frowns as the engines hum to life. 

 

“Are we staying here?”

 

He shakes his head. “I’d really rather not. I’d like to be well away from here before the Demon Clan tracks us down.”

 

“You’re that scared of them?” she asks. She slides into the co-pilot’s chair just the same. 

 

“Why shouldn’t I be? I’m one ship and they already did a number on your ship.”

 

“I’m just one little TIE fighter, though,” Maka replies, eyebrows arched. Soul shoots her a look. 

 

“And there’s never just  _ one _ of you,” he says. “So if you’re by yourself it means you’re either the last one standing or you got separated from the rest of your squadron.” 

 

“They’re in Nexus City,” she finally offers. “I--I need you to tell me what’s going on. And then I need to you take me to my squadron.” 

 

“Can we hit atmo?”

 

She can feel the tension creep into her shoulders again and wonders briefly if she could get to her blaster before he pulled some kind of Jedi voodoo on her. “You think that’s safer?”

 

“I really do. I know I’m asking for a lot of trust here,” he offers. 

 

Every ounce of her training is telling her to either get the fuck out of here or to go ahead and neutralize him, but -- Maka swallows and blinks. That’s not what her  _ instincts _ are telling her to do. It should be, but it’s not and she’s more than a little confused by the conflicting urges. Ultimately though, she didn’t get to be one of the best pilots the Academy has seen by ignoring her instincts.

  
“Alright.”

 

***

 

Black*Star is still trying to extract himself from the pile of cargo crates he’d been shoved into, contemplating the exact kind of hell he’s going to unleash when he catches up to the Imperial and her Jedi when the communicator on his hip blips. Annoyed at life, the universe, and the headache he has, he barks a sharp, “What?” into the comm. 

 

“We can’t find anything,” Lizabeth says. 

 

“Sithspit,” Black*Star hisses. “Tsubaki? Pattie? Anything on your ends?” Black*Star finishes extricating himself from the jumble of crates and surveys the damage done to his person. Despite being  _ Force-slammed _ into them, he doesn’t feel anything broken or strained. 

 

“Nothing, boss,” Pattie responds a few seconds later, her normally ebullient demeanor subdued. “I looked everywhere we were given coordinates for.” 

 

“Tsu?” 

 

It’s another long moment before he hears from his second in command, and it’s not good news. “Nothing, ‘Star. I’m sorry.”

“ _Fuck_.” He still needs to search the spaceport. Of the coordinates Admiral Medusa gave them, it’s the only one they haven’t cleared. Black*Star looks thoroughly, ignoring the weird looks he gets from other inhabitants. The thing is, he doesn’t really expect to find the artefact, not after his run in with the Jedi and the lone Imperial. If none of his crew found it, then it either means that someone else beat him to it, or that his crew hasn’t been thorough, and _that_ simply isn’t a possibility. Black*Star doesn’t believe in coincidences, and he’d bet money on the Jedi having gotten to the artefact first.

 

He’s pissed, but it doesn’t much matter; whatever desire for revenge he has must to be put away for the moment. He’s got better things to do than chase after those two interlopers and their broke-ass TIE fighter -- there’s still another artefact out there that his crew has been contracted to retrieve. 

 

It’s another two hours before he’s back in space and his crew have brought their ships back to rest in  _ Soular Menace _ ’s hold. The mood is somber, to say the least, and while he’s pissed, all that frustration is directed at the Imperials and their pet Jedi. If it hadn’t been for them, his Demon Clan would have gotten the artefact, he’s sure of it. 

 

“You all did good,” he says, surveying his crew. Despite what he would call an unparalleled success of a fight against that Imperial squadron, the rest of his crew is clearly still a little shaken up after the whole endeavor. 

 

Liz shrugs, tugging her sister in a little closer. “It’d be better if we had the artefact,” she scowls. 

 

Next to her, Pattie nods. “Hard to complete a job if we don’t have half the payload. If we hadn’t run into trouble with those damn Imps --”

 

Black*Star feels rather than sees his second in command come up behind him, and he relaxes minutely. “The important thing is that there’s still another artefact to find. We just need to get our hands on that one, and then we can focus on getting back the medallion.”

 

Tsubaki’s hand on his shoulder is overly warm, but the sensation is familiar and steadying. “The big question,” she says, “is why we ran into trouble in the first place.” 

 

Black*Star’s smile is sharp and anything but reassuring. “I plan to ask that very same question. Excalibur? Set our course for Eibon and bring up the holoprojector. I think it’s time for a little renegotiation with our client.”


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

  
  
  


Maka wavers between being relieved that she and Soul weren’t followed into space by the Demon Clan and annoyed because now she’s stuck on his ship, drifting in a careful orbit around Entralla. 

 

Even without the Force, he can feel her eyes boring into him. “So,” he finally says after setting the last of the coordinates for orbit.

 

“So,” she replies, still staring him down. He tries not to let her rattle him, but there’s something about the intensity of her stare that reminds him of the kind of piercing looks Master Stein used to give him. 

 

Soul clears his throat. “So you probably want to know what this is all about.”

 

“That would be the understatement of the century right now,” she replies. “You said something about an ancient Sith artefact?”

 

Soul gets up from his chair and scoots past Maka, beckoning her to follow him. The ship’s a pretty standard YT-1300 as far as she can tell.  _ Probably used for smuggling _ , she thinks, eyeballing the floors and the walls for hidden compartments.

 

“I’m  _ not _ a smuggler,” he says, ducking into the galley. “Mostly. Everyone’s gotta make a living. You want a caf?”

 

“I--no, thank you. I’m good.” She ignores the smuggling confession for the moment and files it away for later. “The artefact?”

 

“There’s a lot of mixed mythology behind it,” he starts, turning on the percolator, “but what the old Jedi lore seems to indicate is that a millennia or so ago, the Sith Lord Darth Asura and his apprentice Arachne managed to create some kind of superweapon, a planet destroyer. The Jedi Council couldn’t stop them before they’d obliterated the entire population of a small planet called Brew. It took almost the entire Council to catch them and neutralize the artefact.”

 

“Neutralize?”

 

Soul takes his tea and sits on the giant lounger. “They couldn’t completely destroy it, so they dismantled it into two fragments and sent them to different sides of the galaxy.”

 

”That’s the stuff of...of  _ children’s _ tales -- stupid stories my mom used to tell me!” Maka scoffs.

 

“Look, I can’t say how much truth there is in the legend -- nothing is ever as straightforward as it seems. But I do know there’s a planet floating out past Hutt Space that used to have a thriving population on it and now it’s just a lifeless rock with a bunch of dilapidated ruins on it.”

 

“Supposing this is all true then what, now the Demon Clan are collecting the artefacts for  _ nefarious purposes _ ?” She wiggles her fingers.

 

“If I remember what that barvy merc was shouting at us, I’d say it’s more like they’re collecting them for money and the  _ Empire’s _ nefarious purposes.” Soul watches her face careful over the rim of his mug. 

 

“What do you mean?” she asks after a moment, voice carefully neutral. He watches her fists clench rhythmically, feels her unease leaking out. 

 

“I mean that if our little blue-haired friend wasn’t just running his mouth, I think he was hired by the Empire to find those lost artefact pieces. And what’s worse -- they’ve already got their hands on one of the pieces.”

 

“I don’t believe it,” Maka snaps. “He said ‘my people’ wanted the artefact found -- that doesn’t mean anything other than the Empire wants to find a potentially dangerous weapon! The Empire wants peace across the galaxy; they’re probably trying to keep something that powerful out of the hands of Rebel  _ scum _ looking to upset the order of things.”

 

Soul looks up at her, elbows on his knees. “Do you really believe that, Maka?”

 

“I’m a  _ soldier _ of the Empire,  _ Jedi _ .” She spits the word like it’s a curse. “ _ You’re _ an enemy of the Empire. Why would I trust anything you have to say? Why wouldn’t I turn you in for the bounty myself?” She doesn’t move from her position, halfway between the galley and the lounger, and Soul doesn’t move, just watches her steadily.

 

“I think if you really believed that, you wouldn’t be on my ship,” he says. “You would have tried to negotiate with the mercenaries to take me in and leave you alone.”

 

“I didn’t have a choice,” she snaps. “Besides, we were here to hunt down those mercenaries in the first place. I’m not making a deal with them.”

 

Soul smiles a little and takes another sip of his stim tea. “One thing my master taught me -- there’s always a choice,” he says. “It might not be a good choice, but it’s there.”

 

Maka glares at him. “If it’s a choice between trusting you or dying at the hands of the Demon Clan, that’s hardly any choice at all.”

 

He shrugs. “So why  _ didn’t _ you turn me in? If you knew I was a Jedi and you thought the mercs were looking for the artefact for the good of the Empire?” He props his boots up on the table, trying to project relaxation as hard as he could. Her expression shifts minutely, too quickly for him to read.

 

“I didn’t know until after we were in my TIE, not really,” she admits. 

 

“But you knew  _ something _ , didn’t you?” he presses, still watching her carefully.

 

Maka’s scowl deepens. “It was...you were  _ weird _ ,” she finally admits. “It was too convenient that you were there and the whole situation was...off. If I hadn’t been so focused on trying to contact my squadron, I would have picked up on it earlier.” She directs her scowl to his boots. “That’s disgusting,” she says, pushing his feet off the table top. It’s an avoidance tactic, she  _ knows _ , understands that she doesn’t want to deal with what Soul is insinuating. 

 

“It’s  _ my _ table,” Soul protests, but he keeps his boots on the floor and wonders if now’s the time to press. Maka is one of the hardest people he’s ever tried to get a read on, and he wonders if it’s her latent Jedi potential or just sheer cursed stubbornness. “Do you do that a lot?” he asks finally.

 

“What, shove people’s feet off of tables?” she shoots back, deliberately obtuse. Maka can’t help but remember a thousand different scenarios where she came out on top because she was lucky -- because she was just a little faster, a little  _ better _ than her competition. Her father used to tell her how proud he was that she was so smart, so talented. She never really understood why he smiled but his eyes always looked so  _ sad _ as he said it. It feels like the air in her lungs is being squeezed out of her chest, and she wonders if it’s Soul doing it -- using his Jedi powers to murder her where she stands -- but that’s ridiculous and she dismisses the possibility almost as soon as it occurs to her. 

 

She’s still standing, still giving herself the high ground, but Soul can wait her out. Probably. Her breathing is shallow, nostrils flaring, when finally, “I’m good at reading situations,” she admits. “I’m fast and a good shot and I read situations better than anyone else, even my squad leader. It’s why I’m at the top of my class -- it’s why this training exercise should have been nothing more than a formality. It’s why  _ you  _ stood out.” Her words almost trip over one another they come so fast; she’s always been this way, she wants to say. It doesn’t  _ mean _ anything. Soul takes a deep breath, trying to catch her eye. She doesn’t want this,  _ can’t _ hear this, she  _ can’t _ \--

 

_ Now or never _ , he thinks. “It’s called being Force-sensitive.”

 

He’s not entirely sure what he expected -- screaming, denial, rage -- some combination of all three. He wasn’t expecting her to collapse quietly and suddenly in the seat across from him, her hand in her hand, fingers tangled in her hair. “Um,” he says.

 

It seems like an eternity before Maka huffs out a weak laugh, “You know, I think I always knew. I think --” she looks up at him. “I think I could use that caf, now please.”

 

It’s mostly silent on the ship as Soul gets up and makes another mug for Maka. He listens carefully for the tiny sounds of the nav computer, all the thousand background noises that are just a part of the familiar background hum of his ship. Nestled among them is the quiet, too-steady breathing of his guest. He can almost hear her counting her breaths.

 

_ In...two...three; out...two...three...in...two...three… _

 

By the time her drink is done and he sets it, still steaming, on the table in front of her, the measured breathing seems a little less mechanical, a little less forced.

 

“You think you knew?” he finally prompts, sliding into the booth across from her.

 

Maka leans back against the over-stuffed upholstery, mug gripped tightly between her palms. “It was my mother.” Soul doesn’t pry, just waits, eyes soft but intent. Eventually she continues. “I was born on Alsakan, but I remember we moved off world when I was very young. My mother left one day and never came back, and then we left for Spira and that was it. I don’t think Spirit -- my father -- ever spoke of her again, not really.”

 

“Did you never ask?” Soul doesn’t mean to vocalize it, but the question slips out before he can stop himself. 

 

“I tried a few times when I was younger, and again when I was a teenager -- I wanted to know something,  _ anything _ about her, but he never said more than that she had had a very important job and that it had taken her away from us.” She smiles, but it’s a crooked sharp thing, and Soul has a hard time looking at it. “I left for the nearest Naval Recruitment Center as soon as I could and they sent me to Prefsbelt IV not long afterwards. I’m the top pilot in my class. I’m the  _ best _ ,” she cuts herself off, eyes intent on her mug. 

 

When she looks up, she finally meets his eyes, green on red and he  _ still _ can’t read her. “I don’t really remember a lot from Alsakan, but she used to do these things, I dunno. Tricks. I was so little. But I thought they were the coolest things ever -- she used to spin a staff when I got really upset and nothing else would calm me -- so fast it didn’t seem real, or she always knew where I was, no matter how hard I tried to hide. She was always  _ different _ , special somehow.”

 

“We’re not the bad guys,” he says finally. “The Empire -- the Emperor -- wants the galaxy to think that, but it’s not true.”

 

She shakes her head violently. “I know that’s what you want me to believe, but how can I? The Empire has been my whole life! You can’t just sit here and look all sad-eyed at me and expect me to believe you!”

 

“Her name was Suzume Albarn, wasn’t it?” 

 

Across from him, her face drains completely of color. “Wh --”

 

He pushes, taking a chance that doesn’t feel like a chance. It feels like something he’s known in the back of his mind since he first saw her. “Your mother’s name was Suzume Albarn, and she was a Jedi Knight.” Her grip tightens on the mug and Soul wonders how much more it will take before she breaks it either accidentally, or by hurling it at his head. “She died 20 years ago trying to help the people of Sy Myrth --”

 

“The Sy Myrth were  _ traitors _ to the Empire!”

 

“Why? Because they wanted to be free?”

 

“They -- they couldn’t be trusted!”

 

“To do what, Maka? To choose their own destinies without the say-so of an Emperor? Who is he to have reign over countless systems?”

 

“The Emperor’s only goal is for a peaceful galaxy! Do you  _ want _ a repeat of the Clone Wars?”

 

“It’s going to happen anyway if the Emperor keeps trying to control every system he can get his hands on!”

 

“They just don’t know what’s good for them,” she yells, face flushed, and whatever tenuous grasp Soul had on his temper frays.

 

“They don’t know what’s  _ good _ for them? Do you know what the Empire does to populations -- to planets it considers  _ rebellious _ ?” 

 

“Of course I know,” she says, eyes sliding past his, shoulders tense, spine rigid.

 

“Maka.” She doesn’t want to meet his eyes, but she can’t quite look away, the deep red of them inescapable. The thing of it is, she does know what happens to those who defy the Empire. She’s gone through military academy, is the top of her class, she  _ knows _ . She’s learned the history of the Empire along with every other citizen, learned about the valiant blood bath that lead the galaxy out of chaos and into peace. She  _ knows _ that the price of peace is obedience, that defiance must be met with swift and decisive force, or else it’ll all dissolve into anarchy again. It’s for the greater good.

 

She doesn’t realize that she’d said that last part out loud until his voice comes again, soft. 

 

“Maka.” 

 

It  _ has _ to be for the greater good, or everything she’s built her life around has been a lie. 

 

“The Empire murders them, decimates their populations, enslaves them, razes their cities, their fields, their livelihoods. Is that the kind of greater good you want to serve?”

 

He’s almost expecting the explosion of motion as she stands and screams, wordless and sharp. He doesn’t bother dodging the mug. It sails past his head close enough to ruffle his hair and he can feel lukewarm caf dripping down the collar of his shirt. He watches the set of her shoulders, tense and trembling.

 

“Come with me,” Soul says finally. “Just...come with me. This artefact -- it’s bigger than just the Empire and I could use the help.” He smiles just a little and her eyes catch on the razor points of his teeth. “It can’t be allowed to be put back together, that’s the most important thing.”

 

She doesn’t want this. What she wants is to go back to Entralla and Nexus City and her squadron. She wonders if they’re still there, if they waited for her, or if they’ve gone back to base for repairs. Had they’d left and gotten caught out by the Demon Clan again? When she didn’t check in, did they assume she’d been killed in action? Even with her skills, it was a long shot for her to take on the Demon Clan on her own -- Kid would be perfectly justified in labelling her KIA.

 

She wants to  _ know _ . She wants them to know that she did it, that she’s still alive -- wants to know that they all made it to the surface ok. There’s a tug in her gut and too many adrenaline spikes have left her feeling jittery and exhausted. 

 

Even still, she can’t deny that she wants to see where this is going -- if Soul’s wild tale about a superweapon is correct. If he’s lying, she doesn’t have anything to lose, and she maybe she can return to the Empire with a prisoner who may hold valuable information about the rebels. If he isn’t lying about this Sith artefact, well -- she doesn’t trust him to just handle it on his own. She’ll be there to make sure that nothing goes wrong and the weapon is dealt with appropriately.

 

She doesn’t let herself think about any other implications just yet, doesn’t acknowledge that, even if she gets in touch with her squadron, she doesn’t know that she’d be welcomed back, especially if they knew her mother’s history, if they suspected her of also being Force-sensitive.

 

Maka says yes.

 

Soul tries not to let his palpable relief shine through, and instead shows her the data his Master (just “Stein,” he had insisted) had sent him with a shortlist of places that were his best guess as to the location of the next artefact. Maka scoffs at that because “best guess” is not exactly encouraging. Soul scowls, staring at the nav coordinates and the sector map.

 

“Yeah, look, I know, but it’s so hard to access records about anything to do with the Sith and the Jedi before the Purge, so this is the best we have.” She tenses up at the word “Purge,” and he doesn’t blame her, but now is not the time for her to start having second thoughts. “Just take a look at it, tell me what you feel.”

 

Maka cuts her eyes to his, then back to the map. Five planets and moons are highlighted -- tiny little glowing orbs of possibility. “I  _ feel _ like this is a waste of time,” she mutters. 

 

“Humor me?”

 

She grumbles under her breath, but takes another look, staring at each planet like the lifeless map is somehow going to divulge its secret with a bright neon “HERE” sign. It’s hopeless, impossible to narrow down without more information. Even still, her eyes keep drifting back towards one little blip.

 

Soul makes a triumphant noise in the back of his throat when she finds herself staring at it for the fourth time, like it’s some kind of victory and not just coincidence. He gives her a crooked grin and says, like he’s reading her mind, “There’s no such thing as coincidence. Stein and I have both looked at those coordinates for  _ hours _ already.”

 

“So?”

 

“ _ So _ , you spent a few minutes looking at it and I believe the Force has directed you to where we need to go,” he falters, trying to determine just how much Maka is really willing to hear. 

 

“Th-that’s stupid,” she scoffs.

 

Soul shrugs. “That’s the Force,” he corrects. 

 

“I’m not a--”

 

“It doesn’t matter,” he cuts her off. He can’t lie to her. “The Force is in everything, everyone.”

 

“We don’t know if that’s  _ actually _ the right planet,” she stalls, crossing her arms stubbornly.

 

“We don’t know it’s not, either.”

 

Maka huffs, and Soul sets a course for Eibon, a small, half-forgotten, ice-waste of a planet that she’d never heard of before, but that she apparently divined using the Force.

 

“It’s about a week’s flight,” Soul says after he locks the course into the nav comp and they make the jump to hyperspace. “We’re probably going to have to make a layover before we get there, unless you happen to have cold-weather gear under your flightsuit?”

 

“Ha, ha.”

 

“Right.” He doesn’t really want to stop, but he wants to go to a frozen hellscape planet unprepared even less, so layover it is. “You, ah...want to see your quarters?” he offers. Next to him, Maka nods once. “We’re a little light on the passengers at the moment, so you’ve pretty much got your choice of spaces,” he says. “The head’s right next door, so it’s nice and convenient.”

 

There’s not much to the crew’s quarters of the ship -- it’s a pretty standard YT-1300 that way, but what’s there Soul has made surprisingly comfortable. He shows her to a bunk with space for three; two bunks along the long wall and one across the short. Maka glances around the room, and at the very least, it’s a lot larger than what she’s used to back at the Academy, and each bunk has full complement of sheets and pillows. 

 

“This is pretty nice,” she admits, flopping down onto the lone bunk, fingers straying to the soft blanket folded at the foot of the bed. It looks homemade.

 

Soul rolls a shoulder awkwardly from the doorway. “Well, it is pretty much my home, so, uh. I like to keep it cozy.” She thinks he might be blushing a little bit, but it’s dim enough that she’s not positive.

 

“Thanks,” she offers instead. 

 

“No problem. My quarters are right behind the lounge area, and --” he hesitates for a moment. “I shouldn’t really be hard to find if you need something. It’s kind of a limited space.” 

 

“Give me a tour of the rest of the ship?” She’s not totally sure what prompts her to ask, but the small smile on Soul’s face is kind of nice, like he’s glad for the opportunity to show his starcraft off. 

 

“Sure.” 

 

She returns his smile and tries not to think about how easily she could feel comfortable here, how quickly this ship could feel like a home to her if she let it. 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

 

 

It takes a good three days before Kid’s convinced that his squadron is in good enough shape to chance a flight back to base. He tells his superiors that it’s just for repairs, and he doesn’t lie. He’ll feel infinitely better knowing that his pilots have functional ships before they head back, even if they don’t anticipate trouble.

 

He hadn’t anticipated the Demon Clan giving them much in the way of trouble either, and look where that had landed all of them.

 

If the extra couple of days means that Maka has extra time to report in, well then that’s just an added benefit. He doesn’t want to believe that she could have possibly been killed, but he has to be prepared for that scenario. Three days without any attempts at making contact -- if it were anyone else but Maka, he would just go ahead and admit that she might be gone, but she’s always been the exception to the rule.

 

Still, there comes a point at which he can’t stall any longer. On the third day, he makes the call. Harvar, arm still in a plasticast, gives him a look.

 

“I have to,” Kid says.

 

“Of course you do,” he replies evenly. “I wasn’t saying anything.”

 

“Uhuh.”

 

“I was just thinking maybe we could do a flyby as we leave. Take in the -- lush climates of, uh, Entralla.” They both turn their gaze to the dusty soil of Nexus City’s “greenspaces.” For variety, there are some fading conifers scattered around. Harvar claps Kid on the shoulder.

 

“That sounds like a good idea,” he says after a moment. It’s unlikely they’ll find any trace of Maka’s TIE, but he has to at least look.

 

The very last thing he expects to find is Maka’s TIE, not crashed, but carefully hidden in a small ravine and covered with scrub brush. His cadet, his _friend_ didn’t crash, and she’s nowhere to be found. Kid has no idea _what_ to think anymore.

 

***

 

It’s quiet on the _Mordent Stanza_ in a way that Maka’s not used to. She enjoys her alone time, but she’s used to having to carve out her space among the routine and bustle of the academy and on Soul’s ship she has to actively seek out company instead. The first night, Soul makes dinner in the small galley and they eat quietly in the lounge. She pokes carefully at the recombined foodstuff and bites her lip.

 

“It’s probably not going to bite you,” Soul finally says, breaking the silence.

 

“What’s it supposed to be?” she asks before she can stop herself. He looks down at their plates, then back up at her.

 

“I...I’m not totally sure. The food synthesizer has been on the fritz for a while and I haven’t been able to fix it yet. I asked for blinitzhk.”

 

Whatever is on their plates definitely looks like two greyish-blue bricks and precisely not at all like any blinitzhk that Maka’s seen. “You, ah...want me to take a look at that tomorrow, maybe?”

 

Soul takes a bite of his brick and makes a face. “That might not be a bad idea.”

 

When Maka finally turns in for the night, Soul pressing a small pile of spare clothes into her hands and not quite meeting her eyes, she’s beyond exhausted. It feels like the stress of her day doesn’t so much catch up to her as it barrels into her full force. Despite her weariness, she still can’t sleep, and so she lays awake in her bunk, eyes trained on the ceiling. In the Academy, the other two bunks would have been filled and she would have had to try to sleep with the soft snores of Jacqueline and the relentless sleep-talking of Kim. It used to annoy her, but now it feels like she can’t sleep without the ambient sounds.  

 

There’s a small audiobox in her bunk she discovers after an hour of fruitless staring at the ceiling, and she eagerly turns it on, flipping aimlessly through different data lists until the strains of jizz filter through and catch her attention. She leaves it there and crawls back into her bed. Objectively, it’s not terribly soothing -- like most jizz, it’s fast-paced and a little on the wild side, but there’s something about the way the musician plays the nalargon. Maka lets her mind focus on the music and drift, and eventually she loses herself to sleep.

 

Maka wakes at the tail end of a dream that leaves her heart pounding and her brain clouded with fleeting images blood and spidery hands reaching for her. She pushes through her disorientation to sit up and takes a deep breath, then another until the lingering panic eases. She can smell freshly brewed caf from the lounge, and she focuses on that smell as she stands and makes her way to her clothes. Soul’s left her a few shirts and a pair of pants that look like they’ve seen better days, but that at least have a hope of fitting her. It’s a relief to finally peel herself out of the standard issue tight shirt and pants. While they were created to keep pilots comfortable in their flight suits, they’re not something she wants to wear constantly, especially not after more than a day and change. The material is built to absorb sweat, but she’s pretty sure she’s found her limit on that.

 

She folds up her clothes, placing them on one of the spare bunks and shakes out her flight suit. She hears rather than sees the medallion fall out of her suit, and she finishes folding it before stooping down to pick it up. The light, dim though it is, catches the edges and makes it shine.

 

When she finally emerges from her room, Soul’s taking up most of the space in the lounge doing -- Maka’s not completely sure, but whatever it is involves what appears to be a genuine lightsaber. For a moment, she wars with retreating to a safe distance or staying and watching, and ultimately, she stays, lingering just inside the door frame and mesmerized by the red glow of the blade, one hand jammed in the pocket of her too-large pants.

 

She doesn’t remember if her mother had a lightsaber. She must have, if she was a Jedi, but Maka had never seen it, either accidentally or otherwise. She wonders what happened to it after her mother was killed -- was it just left on some unknown battlefield, or did some intrepid Stormtrooper take it for a souvenir? She wonders if it genuinely matters or if it’s some morbid curiosity on her part.

 

“I asked if you wanted some breakfast?” Soul’s voice cuts through the fog of her thoughts, and she blinks a few times, fingers brushing against the medallion in her pocket.

 

“I’m sorry, I was --” _lost in thought? Thinking about my mother’s death?_ There’s no good way to answer. “-- distracted,” she finally mumbles.

 

“I noticed.”

 

She can’t quite place his tone of voice, but he’s smiling at her a little crookedly, sweat dripping down the side of his face and soaking his shirt. He tugs the hem of his shirt up and scrubs his face. Maka clears her throat. “Do you do that every morning?”

 

“Yeah, pretty much.” He makes his way over to the galley and pours two mugs of caf, holding one out to her. “It’s important to stay sharp and, you know, it’s not bad cardio either.” Soul grins and she ducks her head to take a sip of her drink. It’s a little on the bitter side, but she’s definitely had worse. “Did you sleep well?”

 

Maka thinks about her half-remembered dream and the medallion in her pocket and for a long moment, she considers just saying yes. There’s no reason for Soul to know about her troubled sleep -- no reason to tell him about the piece of metal she’d found yesterday. The metal is warm under her fingers and it feels like something that’s just hers, only for her -- nothing that she has to share with her father, with her fellow cadets, with the Empire --

 

“-- Maka? Maka, did you hear me?”

 

She snaps her head up at the sound of Soul’s voice, worried and far closer than he had been a moment ago. Soul’s hand is a warm anchor around her elbow, his red eyes warm and worried. Her fingers are still wrapped around the metal in her pocket, which is too warm to the touch. Shaking, Maka pulls her hand out, medallion clasped tightly in her fist. Her head is telling her to keep it, to never let it go, to keep it hidden and safe. Her instincts _scream_ at her to throw it as far away from her person as humanly possible.

 

“Maka, what -- “ Soul sucks in a breath as she slowly uncurls her fist from around the medallion. “Where did you get that? _How_ did you get that?”

 

“I found it yesterday,” she says and her voice sounds very far away to her ears. “It was on the ground just outside of the spaceport.” She needs to drop it. Her skin feels like it’s going to blister off. She can’t let it go. “Soul, I --”

 

He hears the panic in her voice, sees it writ in every line of her body, in the tension around her eyes. “May I see the medallion, Maka?” he asks quietly, injecting the barest hint of Force-fueled suggestion in his voice. She extends her arm and he brings his palm up to rest under hers, fingers gently teasing hers until they open and the medallion finally drops into Soul’s palm. Maka jerks away from him the moment the medallion is out of her grasp, and flings herself backwards.

 

“What the hell was that?” she gasps, eyes wide and aching hand cradled to her chest. Soul backs away and places the medallion on the table. He stares at his hands for a moment, then looks over at her. Maka’s eyes are fixed on the medallion, sitting so innocuously on the tabletop.

 

“ _That_ ,” he says, “is the first Sith artefact.”

 

***

 

“Admiral?” The voice of her first officer is quiet, but insistent, and Medusa pauses her reading and looks up.  Free lingers in her doorway in full parade rest. She resists the urge to roll her eyes, and instead raises an eyebrow at him. He clears his throat. “You have a holo waiting for you in your private chambers.”

 

She waits a moment, just to see if he’ll squirm. It takes about 40 seconds before he shifts restlessly under her gaze -- a full ten seconds longer than the last time. She appreciates improvement. “Thank you, Free. I’ll be there shortly.” She waves a hand at him. “Dismissed.”

 

“Ma’am,” he murmurs, and retreats. She doesn’t know where he came from, and she doesn’t particularly care where he’s off to. Mostly, she wonders who would contact her unexpectedly and why. There are a limited number of options, none of which she’s particularly keen on.

 

By the time she activates the holoprojector, she’s fairly certain of who will be on the other hand, and while she’s not pleased to see the leader of the Demon Clan, she’s not surprised.

 

“Captain Black*Star,” she says smoothly. “What a surprise. I wasn’t expecting you to check in for another week or two at least. Has your hunt gone that easily?” Given the sour, irritated expression on his face, Medusa is pretty sure she knows the answer.

 

“It would be going a lot smoother if we hadn’t run into an Imperial squadron outside of Entralla,” he snaps. “They claimed they were there to bring our team in as,” he twitches his fingers in the air, “disturbers of the peace.”

 

\-- _That_ , she was not expecting at all. Medusa narrows her eyes. “I can assure you that I had nothing to do with any Imperial squadrons in the area. What an unfortunate coincidence. Were you able to retrieve the artefact?”

 

“Your little Imperial squadron delayed us long enough that we were beaten to the Entralla artefact. Pretty sure one of the TIE pilots and some loser Jedi are the ones who snatched the artefact. Doesn’t seem very coincidental to me.”

 

“That _is_ interesting.” She pauses for a moment, then leans in towards the projector. “So you’re giving up, then?”

 

Black*Star’s response is immediate. “ _What_? No! That’s ridiculous. You contracted us for a job and we’re going to get it done. We’re already on course for Eibon and the second artefact you wanted.”

 

“That’s wonderful to hear. I don’t suppose you would be willing to take on a little extra challenge?”

 

“We’re always up for a challenge,” he states, arms crossed and chin in the air. She can practically _smell_ the pride on him.

 

“Excellent. I want you to get the Eibon artefact. Contact me when you have it, and we’ll make the final exchange on Korriban.” She steeples her fingers and makes sure that she’s got Black*Star’s attention. “Now, listen very carefully. That Jedi is going to come after the Eibon artefact too, mark my words. And when he does, I want you to make sure that he sees you, and that he follows you to Korriban. We’ll make sure to trap the Jedi and retrieve my other artefact.”

 

“What’s in it for us? I don’t like the idea of _letting_ someone tail my ship.”

 

“Well, there’s the satisfaction of a job well done, of course -- of knowing that you’re doing a favor to the Empire.” Her lips curve into a vicious smile at the unimpressed look on Black*Star’s face. “Plus there’s a bonus five million for bringing both artefacts to me and another million on top of that as a bounty on the Jedi.”

 

Black*Star opens his mouth, then disappears from the holoprojector’s view for a long moment. When he reappears, he shots a disgruntled glare off to the side before replying, “We have a deal.”

 

“Wonderful. And Captain, don’t worry about that squadron. I’ll make sure they’re dealt with appropriately.”

 

Black*Star gives her another long look that she returns guilelessly. He nods once, says, “We’ll be in touch,” and then cuts the call.

 

From her rooms on the _Ouroboros_ , the galaxy stretches before her, enormous and ripe with a trillion possible futures, all waiting for her -- for her guidance and direction. Medusa smiles.

 

“Free.” She doesn’t bother to raise her voice, but he’s there not more than a moment later.

 

“Admiral?”

 

“Find me that TIE squadron.” The cooperation of the Demon Clan is assured with the kind of purse she’d dangled in front of them, but Medusa knows better than to risk anything to chance, much less something as important as the future of the Empire and her own legacy.

 

“Ma’am.”

 

***

 

Soul ends up locking the medallion up. Maka isn’t sure if that actually makes her feel safer or not. Every so often, she thinks she can still feel the desire to touch the medallion, to tuck it in her pocket, and she starts trembling all over again. She’s not _scared_ , she’s not. She’s _pissed_ . She’s never felt so out of control, never felt like she wasn’t the one running the show, and the worst part of it all is that it was all so insidious. Soul looks like he wants to say _something_ to her and she’s not sure if she really wants to hear it, so she makes a strategic retreat to take a look at the food synthesizer. It’s not running away if she was planning on doing it anyway.

 

The problem ends up being relatively minor, something she’s a little surprised that Soul wasn’t able to find and fix on his own, but she’s not complaining. Part of her wishes that it had been a little more complex because while she’s had a chance to collect and center herself, she’s not entirely sure that she wants to go back out and face Soul. She hopes that she can sneak into the galley to test the synth fix without running into him.

 

Soul is definitely sitting on the lounge, elbows propped on the table and clearly waiting for her. Maka resists the urge to retreat again, and instead squares her shoulders and sits down across from him. “So,” he says. She shoots him a glare, daring him to say something inane like, _are you ok_. What she gets instead is, “I want to start training you.”

 

“What?”

 

He looks away briefly. “It wouldn’t be much -- I’m not really, uh, qualified to actually take you on as a student, but this whole -- “ He waves his hand. “I just think you’d feel better, safer even, if you had a better grasp on the basics of the Force.”

 

“I…” Her knee-jerk reaction is to immediately reject his offer. There’s no part of her that wants to be a Jedi, or even have anything to do with the Force. It’s one thing to suspect that she’s Force-sensitive, it’s another thing entirely to seek it out, to encourage that aspect of her life.

 

“I wouldn’t suggest it,” Soul says, “except we still need to find the other artefact, and if one had that kind of effect on you, then I’m worried about the effect two Sith artefacts will have on someone with your potential and no way to resist them.”

 

His words chill something in her chest. The thought of being helpless, of having her actions not be her own again. She was able to snap out of it this time, but only with Soul’s help. If he hadn’t been there, there’s no telling what she would have done, and she doubts that she ever would have suspected anything was wrong. The sheer insidiousness of the artefact -- if she can combat that, if there’s something she can do to prevent it from happening again --

 

“Okay,” she says. “Where do we start?”

 

She’s not sure what she was expecting: maybe for Soul to hand over his lightsaber and let her take a run at a remote. What she gets is Soul testing out the food synth by making them both breakfast and a lecture about the long and storied history of the Jedi. It would be interesting if it sounded more like history and not like fairy tales and half (poorly) remembered legends. She can barely pick out a thread of consistency, much less how they related to her.

 

“You weren’t a very good student, were you?” she asks after a while. Across from her, Soul flushes.

 

“History isn’t really my strong suit,” he mumbles. “But it’s important to know about the Jedi Order --”

 

“The Jedi Order doesn’t exist anymore,” she says, and where once it would have been confrontational, it comes out a little more like a gentle reminder. For a moment, she wonders if she went too far.

 

“I told you I wasn’t really qualified to teach you,” Soul says, crossing his arms with a scowl. “You’re right, there is no Jedi Order anymore. So much has been lost and I don’t know where to start.”

 

“Where would you start if _you_ wanted to be safe?”

 

Soul wants to say that there’s no right answer to that, that there’s no quick fix or easy trick to keeping yourself away from the influence of the dark side. There are intricacies and nuances to wielding the Force, to opening yourself to the universe that he’s still learning, still testing out. He takes a deep breath.

 

“The Force is what binds the universe together; it’s in everything -- you and me, the _Mordent Stanza_ , everything living or otherwise, we’re all bound together. Balance is the key to the Force, and that’s what Jedi focus on -- maintaining the balance of the Force. It’s why for eons the Jedi Order were the peace keepers of the galaxy.” He looks at the mulish set of Maka’s jaw and adds, “Whether or not it was warranted. The dark side, the Sith -- there’s a lot there, but the important thing is that they draw from and on strong feelings, on negative emotions.”

 

“So, what -- you can’t be passionate about anything?”

 

Soul scrubs a hand through his hair. “It’s not like that exactly. It’s just dangerous to let your emotions rule your actions.”

 

She narrows her eyes. “But the medallion -- I wasn’t _doing_ anything. It was just in my pocket.”

 

“The dark side feeds off these emotions, but it doesn’t like, require you to be pissed to exist. More than anything, it’s insidious.” He gives her a quick look. “You’ve experienced a lot of turmoil recently. The dark side can play on your insecurities, on your fear...or your bravado. An artefact like the medallion -- I’ve never seen anything like that. I --” He stops, breathes carefully. “If I had had any idea what it would be like, I would have warned you. The best way to keep yourself safe is to know that the dark side is always there, always trying to pull you away from what’s right. You can’t stop it, that’s not how the Force works, but awareness means it’s harder for the dark side to get its claws in you.”

 

“So it’s just _there_ and _evil_ and there’s nothing we can do about it?”

 

“It -- it’s not like that. The Force just _is_. It’s all about balance; without dark, there can’t be light. Stein used to tell me that it’s not just one or the other. There’s like...this sliding scale and it’s up to each individual to determine where they sit on that scale. No one is really inherently good or evil.” Maka’s eyebrows raise at that, and Soul looks away. “It’s, ah. Not a very popular opinion,” he admits. “But I can’t believe that anyone out there is genuinely, irredeemably evil. We all make choices, whether we’re Force-sensitive or not. As a Jedi, I’m just a little more in tune with those choices and their possible repercussions.” He exhales noisily and meets her eyes. “That artefact, though -- it and its counterpart were created for one purpose, and that purpose is evil.”

 

Maka’s quiet for a long time. “It’s okay,” she says finally. “You didn’t know, and now we do. We know what to expect from the next artefact, too.” She had agreed to come along on this trip, knowing that it was important, but she thinks she understands Soul’s earlier desperation just a little bit better now. She’ll never forget the easy way she fell under its influence. She knows that Soul locked it up to dampen its sphere of influence and she thinks, especially after his lesson, that that’s incredibly telling. She gives him a small smile that she doesn’t really feel because it’s not going to do either of them any good to dwell on the possibility that retrieving the second artefact could be even more dangerous. “So, when do I get to use one of those lightsabers?” she asks archly.

 

Across from her, Soul smiles back, sharp teeth bared in a friendly challenge. “I may be shitty at history, but I excelled in combat training,” he warns.

 

Her answering grin doesn’t feel forced at all. “ _Good_.”


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

  
  
  


Eibon is made of nothing but ice. Logically Liz knows that that’s not true, but it sure as hell feels like it. She’s convinced that her eyelids are going to freeze together if she doesn’t blink constantly. Tsubaki assures her that as long as she keeps her goggles on, she’ll be fine. Liz likes taking chances, but not so much when it comes to her eyelids freezing together. Still, she’s had worse jobs for worse crews, and thanks to their last job being interrupted, her professional pride is on the line.

 

Well, perhaps a little more that  _ just _ professional pride. It’s always a risky proposition dealing with the Empire, but with the way the Imperials have been cracking down on other questionably legal operations across the galaxy, she knows that Black*Star and Tsubaki have been intent on finding them jobs wherever they can. She also knows that if they can pull off this job, it won’t hurt to have the creds  _ and _ the good graces of an Imperial Admiral on their side.

 

Liz just doesn't like the uncertainty of it all. If they succeed, big pay off. She doesn’t want to contemplate what failure could potentially mean for them. At best, they have to find a way to escape Imperial space. At worst -- Liz clenches her jaw and focuses on searching the set of coordinates that had been doled out to her. She spots a dilapidated building through the haze of snow. While the coordinates don’t exactly match up with what she’d been given, she isn’t about to skip over the possibility that the artefact could be here.

 

She brings her Z-95 in close, scanning the ground beneath the snow to confirm that she’s not about to land her ship on a hidden ice floe or something equally ridiculous. It looks clear, so she brings her ship as close as she can to the building and touches down. Liz can feel the cold begin to permeate the hull and canopy of her ship. She’s going to have to keep her search quick, lest either her or her ship starts to freeze over. Liz  _ hates _ the cold. Her only consolation is that the rest of her crew is also stuck searching this frozen hellscape. Under normal circumstances, they’d be sticking to their normal paired-search pattern, but Black*Star hadn’t been willing to risk losing the advantage of time, especially after the shit-show that was Entralla. They have pre-designated check-in times assigned, and if anyone misses, they’ve got a rescue protocol in place. 

 

Medusa had assured him there wouldn’t be any more run-ins with Imperial squadrons, but none of them were willing to take her word for it. They hadn’t seen anyone in or around Eibon yet, but that didn’t mean anything. The rescue protocol is, she thinks, as much for surviving the arctic temperatures as it is for preparing for another surprise run-in.

 

On their fifth cycle of check-ins, the first thing Liz hears is the triumphant sound of her sister’s voice.

 

“I got it!” Pattie crows over the comm, and Liz feels herself sag in relief.

 

“Good teamwork,” Black*Star replies. “Now let’s get the fuck out of here. Meet me at the rendezvous point ASAP.”

 

Liz eyeballs the frozen wasteland with smug satisfaction and points the nose of her ship towards orbit. Once they’re all back on the  _ Menace _ , Pattie tosses the artefact on the lounge table.

 

“All this fuss for something this small?” 

 

They all wince as it clatters onto the table. “Pattie --” Liz starts. Her sister waves a hand negligently.

 

“It’s  _ fine _ . I found it under a pile of rubble; I don’t think it’s about to shatter.” It certainly looks fine -- no cracks or faults that Liz can see.

 

“What do you think it is?” she asks, reaching out to poke it. It rolls a little, cylindrical and about a foot and a half long. It looks almost...incomplete, and she brushes her hand along the body of it. It feels like she’s been struck, and she snatches her hand back. Black*Star shoots her a look.

 

“It’s just some ancient relic from a dead civ,” he says, reaching out to touch it.

 

“No --” Liz shouts, but she’s a split second too late, and Black*Star pokes and prods at the thing. She can feel her face flush at the weird looks her crew is giving her, but she squares her jaw. “It felt weird when I touched it,” she says. “Like I got shocked.” She doesn’t mention how her palm is still tingling, how her skin feels just a little oily.

 

“Must have just been static,” Black*Star says. Liz doesn’t think that’s the case, but no one else seems to have any problems when they poke at it. If it weren’t for the lingering feeling, she’d assume she imagined the whole thing.

 

As she stares at it, the proximity alarms start to blare, and in their haste to figure out what’s going on, she forgets about it. Excalibur’s voice echoes through the ship, obnoxious and tinny, “Incoming ship! My legendary self is in danger.”

 

Black*Star rolls his eyes, but looks pleased. “How much you wanna bet that’s the Jedi? This is gonna save us so much time.” Next to him, Tsubaki doesn’t look as pleased, but Black*Star is already in action, heading straight for the bridge and yelling, “Start her up, Excalibur!”

 

Liz can’t hear the droid’s response, but Black*Star’s annoyed shouting is clear. “Yeah, I  _ know _ , would you just  _ listen _ for once...that wasn’t a question!”

 

***

 

Soul pulls them out of hyperspace sooner than Maka would have if she’d been the one flying, but she doesn’t say anything, just straps herself into the co-pilot’s chair. She must not do a very good job of schooling her expression though, because Soul takes one glance at her and snorts.

 

“Trust me, yeah?”

 

“You ask that an awful lot,” Maka says, fingers itching to get at the controls. She clamps her hands on the arms of the chair a little harder.

 

“I’d rather not burst out of hyperspace and directly into the line of fire of those mercenaries on the chance that they beat us here. I’d rather we get a chance to sneak up on them, scope out the area.”

 

That, she supposes, is where they really differ. Maka would, nine times out of ten, prefer to harness the element of surprise and burst onto the scene, blasters blazing. Still, she’s normally backed by a squadron of her cohort.

 

“Should I take one of the turrets?” she asks as Soul brings the ship around. Eibon is spread out before them, and she’s struck by just how much of it is a bright, blinding white, even from space. Soul is quiet for a moment.

 

“What do you sense?” She looks over at the console, and Soul leans over to block her view. “No, no, not what do you see, what do you  _ sense _ ?”

 

“I heard you,” she grumbles, but closes her eyes just the same and works on extending her senses like Soul had been trying to teach her to do over the last few days. Attempting to look for something without physically  _ looking _ at anything is still a concept that she struggles with; she’s a very literal person by nature, used to focusing on the physical world around her. Still, she closes her eyes and tries to concentrate on her surroundings, even if she’s not  _ looking _ at anything. She wonders if it’s always going to be this difficult, or if she’ll eventually get used to it -- if it will eventually become as easily as breathing. It feels like forever, but eventually she senses the presence of a ship. “We’re not alone,” she finally mutters.

 

“How many?”

 

The ship feels familiar, and it doesn’t take her very long to identify it. “Fuck,” she says. “Demon Clan.” Soul reaches over and she can feel his fingers against the bare skin of her wrist. More than that, she can feel him there with her in a way that has nothing to do with his physical touch. It should feel invasive, but instead it just feels kind of comforting. 

 

“It’s definitely them,” he agrees. 

 

“The turret?” 

 

And the thing of the matter is that Soul doesn’t sense any kind of intent to harm from them, but it’s not like he’s forgotten their last encounter. Maka is already moving towards the turret when he nods. “Yeah, just in case.”

 

The mercenaries aren’t even trying to hide, and Soul’s fingers itch on the console. 

 

“Soul, they’re moving,” Maka calls up. She pauses, then adds, “Right toward us. I can lock on target in a second.”

 

His first instinct is to tell her to fire, but the ship, while moving quickly, doesn’t seem to be intent on attacking them. In fact, none of their turrets are active and if they keep on the trajectory they’re on currently, they’ll completely bypass the  _ Mordant Stanza _ . 

 

“Soul?”

 

He ignores her and stretches out his senses once more. There’s still no intent to attack them as far as he can tell, but more than that, they’re clearly leaving, and he has a hard time believing that the mercenaries are running scared from his ship. He frowns, narrowing his eyes; the sense of smug satisfaction emanating from the other ship. Soul can just read the ship’s name, painted in bright, bold blue as it cruises by.

 

_ Soular Menace _ .

 

“They have the other artefact,” he calls down to Maka.

 

“ _ What _ ? Are you sure?”

 

“As sure as I can be without trying to hail their frequency and asking,” he snaps back. Even as he says it, the  _ Stanza _ ’s comms blip. Sometimes, Soul is pretty positive the universe is laughing at him. He flips the comm switch anyway. “This is the  _ Mordant Stanza _ .”

 

“Hey Jedi! We’ve got something you want.”

 

“Do you have any idea what you have there?” he asks.

 

“It’s not my job to ask; it’s my job to deliver and to get paid. And if you want this little artefact, you’re gonna have to pay for it.”

 

Soul closes his eyes and exhales. “How much?”

 

“SOUL!” Maka thunders up the ladder, sounding scandalized. 

 

“A million creds,” the mercenary says, casually, like it’s nothing at all. Maka makes an outraged noise from right behind him, and he’s almost tempted to ask her to go back into the turret. 

 

“A  _ million _ ,” she hisses. “That’s robbery! We ought to just blow a hole in them.” 

 

Soul winces. On second thought, he’s better off keeping her within eyesight. 

 

“I can hear you, you know.” The voice on the other end of the line sounds amused rather than irritated, and Maka flushes angrily. “A million creds is my final offer. You can meet me in three days on Korriban and we can make the exchange.  _ Or _ I can sell it to the original bidder. Your choice, Jedi.”

 

“We’ll be there,” he says, ignoring Maka’s glare.

 

“I look forward to doing business with you. Black*Star,  _ out _ .” The comm goes quiet and they both watch as the  _ Soular Menace _ makes the jump to hyperspace.

 

“You’re seriously going to do business with him?” Maka asks after a moment. 

 

Soul scrubs his hands through his hair. “That would be the best option.” 

 

“I hear a ‘but’ there,” she prods, slipping back into the co-pilot’s chair.

 

“I’m not sure I trust him,” he says. Maka snorts loudly, and he gives her a sideways glare. “I know, I know. But I  _ want _ to trust him.”

 

“Well, don’t. He and his gang are cutthroat mercenaries. I have no doubt that whatever’s waiting for us on Korriban, it’s probably going to be a trap.”

 

Soul wants to know what kind of intel on the Demon Clan Maka received before she went on her last mission. He wonders how much of it might have been truth and how much was overblown in that way that charges against enemies of the Empire tend to be. “Probably,” he agrees. He’s just not sure if the trap is going to be laid by the Demon Clan, or by Black*Star’s original bidder. Ultimately, it doesn’t really matter. He has to retrieve the other artefact, so they’re going to Korriban. 

 

Maka sighs, but starts searching the nav computer for the right set of coordinates. After a moment, she looks up. “Wait, so you just have a million credits you can blow on this thing?”

 

Soul doesn’t quite meet her eyes. “Well, no. Not exactly. We’re going to need to make a quick stop.”

 

***

 

Kid doesn’t know why he’s been called to meet with Admiral Gorgon, but after the mess on Entralla, he’s pretty sure that it can’t be anything good. He schools his features carefully and follows in the hulk of a man who seems to be Gorgon’s primary attendant. Her chamber is well appointed, bright and airy and lacking the sterility of the rest of the ship. 

 

He’s expecting something from her -- a demotion or at the very least a solid verbal lashing. What he gets is a wide smile; far from being reassuring, Kid can feel his stomach plummet.

 

“Kid Mortimer.” Her smile sharpens in a way that he didn’t think was possible.

 

“Admiral,” he says, snapping to attention.

 

“I’ve been told your squadron had a little bit of an...incident over the planet Entralla.” 

 

It’s an ambiguous enough statement, but Kid didn’t get to lead his own squadron by thinking that he could get away with falsities, even the vague half-truths that might make him look better as a pilot and as a leader. They had fucked up, and that was on him.

 

“We were on a training exercise, sent to take out the Demon Clan -- a nuisance of a mercenary band with a habit of scavenging settlements and ships. We underestimated both their firepower and their prowess, and were caught by surprise, resulting in significant damage to most of our squadron, both in ships and in pilots.”

 

“I see. And how did you manage to escape such a...harrowing situation?” 

 

He can’t read her at all, but he keeps his eyes focused on her face. “We split our forces; one of my pilots drew fire from the mercenaries while the rest of us assisted the damaged ships to safety in Nexus City.”

 

“ _ We _ ?”

 

Kid feels a prickle at the back of his skull, and he  _ knows _ that he has to be careful here. “My second in command for the mission made the suggestion and volunteered to take on the task at great personal peril.”

 

“How brave. Who was this enterprising individual?”

 

“Her name is Maka Albarn -- one of the Academy’s most promising pilots.”

 

Medusa remains eerily still as he reports, eyes trained on him. “Clever girl. I wish to speak with her about her...heroics.”

 

Kid’s almost relieved that he doesn’t know where Maka is. “She is MIA, Admiral Gorgon.”

 

For the first time since he entered her chamber, Medusa shifts into motion, sliding towards him. It takes every ounce of discipline in his arsenal to remain still, facing forward. “Missing in action.”

 

“Yes, Admiral.”

 

“And did it ever occur to you that this was a deliberate action on her part?”

 

“Maka wouldn’t --”

 

The look on her face stops him cold, and it feels like the entire atmosphere of the room has shifted around him. “ _ Maka _ wouldn’t?” she asks, eyebrow arching. “It seems to me a perfect set up. You’re telling me that  _ one _ TIE pilot was able to draw away an entire mercenary contingent that your whole squadron couldn’t contain?” She  _ tsks _ softly, the sound sending a shiver through him. “You have to realize how  _ ridiculous _ that sounds.”

 

When she phrases it like that, it does sound ridiculous, but Kid knows Maka, knows how it all happened, no matter what the Admiral says. 

 

“Ma’am, I do, but --”

 

“This is an abject failure on your part, Mortimer. Not only to allow such a defeat at the hands of a ragtag band of mercenaries, but also to hide the treasonous activities of one of your own squadron. I ought to have you placed in the cells immediately.”

 

“Admiral --”

 

“You will have one opportunity to redeem yourself, and that only on the merit of your superb service to the Empire and my own grace.” He wants to protest, but keeps his mouth firmly shut. Admiral Gorgon isn’t known for her necessarily capricious nature, but she’s also not known for her mercy. “You and your squadron will accompany me to Korriban, where I have gone to great trouble to lay a trap for these upstart mercenaries and your rogue pilot. You will bring them all to justice, and if you fail again, it will be your head.”

 

His chest feels tight, but he nods anyway and salutes. 

 

“Excellent.” Medusa’s voice slithers around. “You will leave at 0800. Dismissed.” 

 

Kid salutes again and turns, marching smartly out of her chambers. He can’t shake the sick, cold feeling in his chest, but he has a duty to the Empire -- one that he’s always known is greater than that to friends or family. 

 

He just never expected to be tested like this.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

  
  
  


Maka insists that they shouldn’t bother to try and scrounge up the credits, but Cyr bon Cyr is right on their flight path, and Soul has a contact there. She almost doesn’t enter in the coordinates, but he seems really intent on trying to legitimately raise the funds for the artefact.

 

“I don’t see why it matters,” she mutters, taking up the lightsaber Soul hands her. They’re well into the first day of travel and not expected to hit Cyr bon Cyr until day two, and Soul had insisted on doing a little more training. Soul turns the remote on.

 

“Well, for one thing it’s not really part of the Jedi code to go around stealing things from other people.”

 

“But they’re just mercenaries.” She swings, catching the first two blasts with the blade.

 

“And they’re still intelligent life forms who scavenged that artefact fair and square.”

 

“I’d argue that,” Maka mutters. “But you said that getting these artefacts in the right hands -- that’s part of the greater good. Why can’t we just take them?”

 

Soul sighs; he’s been struggling with that a little bit himself. “Ultimately, there’s a solution available that satisfies all parties and doesn’t mean we have to resort to violence. Not,” he adds, adjusting the difficulty level on the remote, “that I mind the violence. But if it isn’t necessary…” He doesn’t expect Maka, raised so well to conform to the Empire’s notions of right and wrong and  _ morality _ , to fully understand the distinction. She’s quiet for a long moment, focusing for all intents and purposes on blocking and dodging the remote’s attacks.

 

“Ok,” she finally says. “I don’t know if I agree, since they’re outlaws, but I concede your reasoning.”

 

Soul smiles a little. “Let’s put it this way: by the Empire’s standards, I’m an outlaw too, and I’d rather not do anything to attract the attention of the authorities -- like, I dunno, have a giant firefight with the Demon Clan.”  _ That _ seems to really get her attention, and a second later the remote zaps her on the hand. “Let’s try that again.” He grins and Maka narrows her eyes. “This time, blind.”

 

“Hhhhhrhg.”

 

By the time they reach Cyr bon Cyr, Soul’s struggling to come up with new exercises to stretch Maka’s skills. He’s tapped out the usefulness of the remote, and he’s a little afraid that if they keep utilizing it, Maka’s going to end up cutting it in half -- intentionally or not. He’s impressed with how quickly she’s taken to training, and he tries not to worry too much about pushing her too far too fast, or about  _ why _ she might need to be adept.

 

As soon as they land, he wastes no time making a beeline for the home of his contact on Cyr bon Cyr. Maka is expecting some kind of clandestine bar or hovel, appropriately suited to the shady activities that, despite Soul’s insistence otherwise, she’s sure he and his associates get up to. Instead, a short five minute walk from the spaceport and back along a few narrow alleys, they arrive at what she can only describe as a downright  _ cheerful _ little cottage. 

 

The walls are a bright white, despite the street dust and even the storm shutters are painted brightly. She half expects little boxes planted full of greenery, and says as much to Soul. He gives her a quick grin.

 

“Nah, Blair and Marie aren’t much for gardening.”

 

The door opens before he can knock, and Soul steps inside immediately, gesturing for her to follow. The inside is just as cheerful as the exterior, and Maka has no idea what to make of the tall felinoid in front of them. 

 

“Soul, pumpkin, what a pleasant surprise!” She envelops the Jedi in a huge, perfumed embrace, and Maka just raises her eyebrow at him. He mostly looks resigned over Blair’s shoulder and allows himself to be squeezed. “To what does Blair owe the honor?” She finally releases him, and turns her attention to Maka, golden eyes sharp and calculating. “And who is  _ this _ tender little morsel?”

 

Maka will swear on her TIE that she does not take a step back from the taller female, no matter how Soul likes to tell it, but it is definitely a near thing. “Maka Albarn,” she finally says.

 

“She’s a friend of mine, Blair,” Soul cuts in. “Is Marie home?”

 

“A  _ friend _ ?” It comes out more a purr than anything else, and Maka definitely gets the feeling that she’s being sized up. “Blair always knew you’d finally settle down with a nice human and raise your own litter.” She sounds extremely smug about the whole thing, and all Maka can do is gape at her. 

 

Soul’s face is scarlet and he sputters weakly that it really isn’t like that at all, but Blair doesn’t appear to believe him. Instead, she just pats him on the head and sets them both at a table. “Blair is so happy for you,” she says, bustling into the kitchen. “I will make you some special tea, and you can tell Blair what you need from her and Captain Marie.”

 

Marie, as far as Maka can tell, is either the biggest, baddest pirate captain in the galaxy or the closest thing Soul “Eater” Evans has had to a mother figure since he’d run away from Coruscant at the tender age of ten. She arrives halfway through their visit with Blair with a huge grin and propensity to pull out old holograms of a young Soul, barely a teenager, scowling and skulking around with a taller man in robes. 

 

Soul, for his part, bears it all with a series of increasingly distressed facial expressions as he’s forced to relive some of the more awkward years of his life. It’s kind of sweet in a way, and Maka’s reminded for a moment of her father. She wonders what it might be like to bring Soul to meet her father, then dismisses the idea almost as soon as she thinks it. It’s ridiculous to think of. 

 

“What a little shit,” Marie says fondly. “I was sad to leave him with Stein, but he needed the training, you know? You can’t just leave a kid with all that Force-potential running around untrained.”

 

“Why?”

 

Marie looks at her like she’s grown a second head, and not for the first time, Maka feels like she’s missing something -- working at a disadvantage to everyone around her. It’s not a sensation that she’s used to, and she doesn’t like it.

 

“When you have the ability to use the Force, knowingly or not, you have a responsibility to the galaxy to nurture that power, to learn control and restraint, and to help those in need. Someone with all of that untrained, raw potential? It’s going to show itself one way or another, and untrained -- it’s a Sith Lord in the making.”

 

Maka glances over at Soul and remembers once again the feeling of the Entrallan artefact trying to worm its way into her mind, insidious and pervasive. He gives her a small smile, face still a little red, and she thinks she understands him just a little better.

 

***

 

It takes a little finagling -- Marie is a pirate, after all, and despite it being for the greater good, it’s still a bit of a feat to get her to cough up the credits. But she does, with the promise of sending word to Stein that they’ve located both artefacts and are in the process of retrieving them. 

 

They arrive in Korriban’s atmosphere on time three days later with the necessary credits in hand to a complete lack of fanfare, and Soul releases a breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding since Maka began to drop them out of hyperspace. He’d more than expected to be walking straight into some kind of trap. He’s slightly reassured by the fact that Maka exhales heavily as well. The only thing waiting for them is a small beacon flashing their call signal. Soul pulls it in and, sure enough, it’s from the Demon Clan and it has another set of coordinates with it that will take them to their rendezvous location planetside. 

 

Despite his initial relief, Soul can feel worry start to creep back in as they get closer to the surface of Korriban. In her chair, Maka is steadily scowling at the approaching ground; Soul tries to concentrate on landing the  _ Stanza _ with as little fanfare as possible. 

 

“Any sign of our blue-haired friend and his friends?” 

 

“I didn’t expect them to be waiting,” Maka says, scanning their instruments. “I’m sure now that we’re landed, they’ll come crawling out of the woodwork -- “ She glances at their surroundings, then amends, “Stonework. It’s what  _ I’d _ do, at least.”

 

Soul looks around for the first time, and yeah, that’s -- they’ve touched down in what looks like a dusty valley; where he would have anticipated sharp canyon walls there are instead a host of statues carved out of the rock and stone. They line the walls, creating a sinister sort of path that leads to a temple. 

 

Now that he’s not trying to land the ship, Soul recognizes that nagging worry from earlier as the Force. He already knows to be careful of the mercenaries, but he can’t shake the feeling of warning -- that there’s something else he should know. He wonders if it’s just him, but the statues seem like they’re watching him. 

 

“It looks like a bunch of tombs,” Maka shudders. “I don’t like this, Soul.”

 

“So you’ve mentioned.” He can’t deny that he doesn’t like it either, though. Maka shoots him an annoyed look, and the increasing familiarity of the gesture settles some of the unease in his chest.

 

“Well, I didn’t like it before, and I sure as hell don’t like it now. This is a really good place for an ambush.”

 

“Is that what you’d do if you were Black*Star?” He looks over at her.

 

Maka wants to flinch from his gaze, piercing and red, and she wants to lie to him. Instead, she says, “That’s exactly what I’d do.”

 

“Not very honorable of the Empire.” His voice is as mild as a spring day on Spira. 

 

“Sometimes you have to do things for the greater good, for the sake of your mission, that you’d rather not do,” she ignores his tone, parroting his earlier lessons back at him, and Soul wants to be irritated, but can’t quite manage it. She quirks a small smile at him, adding, “Like following a Jedi to the middle of nowhere and learning from him to try and save the galaxy.”

 

The dour mood lifts somewhat, but Soul still can’t shake the pervasive feel of wrongness. Even knowing that, he can’t see another path to their objective; he straps on his lightsaber and watches as Maka checks and double checks her blaster. There’s still no sign of the Demon Clan, but they both know that’s by design.

 

“You ready?” Maka asks. 

 

“Not really,” Soul replies. “Let’s go.” He lowers the ramp, and Maka stifles a laugh. 

 

Any humor, grim though it might be, is completely sucked out of her the moment she steps foot on the surface of Korriban. The air is thick and miasmic, and Maka feels heavy, despite the fact that the gravitational pull of the planet is well in the normal range. Next to her, Soul stops for a moment and she doesn’t think she’s imagining the full-body shudder that runs through him. 

 

“What  _ is _ this place?” Maka asks. Her hand is clenching on the handle of her blaster and it takes a concentrated effort to forced her fingers to loosen their grip. She doesn’t remember grabbing it. For a split second, she’s reminded of her first interaction with the artefact, and Maka has to tamp down on her instinctive panic. She tries to remember the lessons Soul worked to drill into her head -- tries to focus on the steady ebb and flow of the Force, letting it anchor her in reality. “Soul, what --” she takes a deep breath. 

 

“It’s a graveyard,” he finally says, eyes still trained on the statues. “We should hurry.”

 

“It feels like the artefact.” As soon as she says it, the connection feels obvious. She moves closer to Soul; the warmth of his presence seems to beat back the miasma.

 

The only real consolation for having to wait is that they don’t have to do so for very long. Maka braces herself instinctively the moment she hears the whine of the Xiytiar’s engines. By the time they land and disembark, it’s all she can do not to immediately put her hand back on her blaster.

 

Black*Star strides out of his ship with the air of a man completely in control of the situation. It grates on her nerves, and Maka acknowledges that it’s mostly because it’s true: they’re at the mercy of this man deciding that he wants to keep his word. 

 

“Well? Do we have a deal?” Black*Star’s voice booms across the valley. Behind him, two more people step out, one blonde and one brunette, and both visibly armed; Maka recognizes them from their wanted posters. With Pattie, the younger Thompson, and Tsubaki Nakatsukasa out, it means there’s only one member of the gang still on board and probably manning the guns. Next to her, Soul reaches out and brushes his fingers across the back of her hand. It’s small, but enough to calm the anxiousness she feels building. 

 

Soul holds up the chip, loaded with the credits they’d scrounged from Soul’s questionable contacts. “It’s all here. Do you have the artefact?”

 

Black*Star holds up a small bag and shakes it lightly. “Right here, as promised. You wanna,” he wiggles his fingers, “do the Jedi thing and send that cred chip over? I’ll throw the artefact as soon as I have the money.”

 

“You think you can float the chip?” Soul asks her under his breath. “I want to be in a position to grab that artefact if this is a double cross.”

 

She really doesn’t think she’s ready; they’ve barely dealt with kinetics in her training, but she nods anyway. Soul’s told her time and time again that it’s mind over matter. “All right.” She can do this.

 

“I’m sending it over,” Soul calls and holds out his hand; Maka levitates the chip, struggling to keep her face unreadable. It shakes a little, and she can feel Soul nudging the chip to keep it stable. Maka pauses the chip just before it gets to Black*Star, who gives them a shrewd look before grinning widely and tossing the artefact up in the air. Maka releases her grip on the chip and Soul snatches the artefact out of the air and pulls it back towards them. Black*Star catches the chip and gives them a mocking salute.

 

“A pleasure doing business with you, and I really mean that. You’re some of the best clients I’ve worked with.” He looks inordinately pleased with himself, and it makes Maka want to punch him in the face. “Which makes what’s about to happen really unfortunate, but I’m sure you understand that it’s just business.”

 

Soul narrows his eyes, but Maka’s already tugging at his sleeve. “We have to go.  _ Now _ , quick.” She can already hear the buzzing hum of familiar TIE engines, combined with something larger, probably a Lambda-class shuttle. “They sold us out!”

 

They sprint for the ship, and it’s  _ so close _ , but she knows that it isn’t going to be enough of a head start. One of the TIEs fires and Maka and Soul stop in their tracks; it’s enough time for another fighter to get in between them and their ship, and Soul raises his hands, face determined like he’s about to pluck the lead TIE right out of the sky.

 

“ _ No _ ,” Maka shouts. “No, that’s my squad -- Soul!”

 

“Shit,” he mutters, lowering his hands. Behind them, she can hear the shuttle touching down and their last avenue for escape is cut off. 

 

“Hands up and surrender your weapons.” The voice over the TIE’s comm is familiar, and Maka bows her head, hands clenching at her sides. “Now,” Kid says, and she reluctantly drops her blaster. Soul drops the spare blaster he had strapped to his leg, but keeps his lightsaber. They both raise their hands -- his lightsaber is still tucked away in the folds of his robe, and he hopes that’s enough to keep it hidden from the troopers.

 

There’s a loud shout from behind them, and they both turn to find an Imperial Admiral exiting the shuttle. 

 

“Well, well. What a fun little party we seem to have here. A group of wanted mercenaries, one rogue Jedi knight, and a traitor. Must be my lucky day.”

 

Next to Soul, Maka swallows noisily. They’ve got the blasters of at least twenty Stormtroopers trained on them, not to mention the firepower of the TIEs, and the only consolation as far as he can tell is that Black*Star and his crew are also being held captive. “Serves them right,” he mutters under his breath.

 

“Medusa, we had a  _ deal _ ,” Black*Star shouts, face red. Next to him, Tsubaki and Pattie look like they’re seriously considering trying to blast their way out. 

 

“We did,” she acknowledges. “But I’m merely a servant of the Empire, and I  _ am _ honor bound to bring miscreants like you to justice.” She darts her eyes over to the mercenaries. “Please try it, Miss Thompson. Just be aware that the moment you strike out, my TIE pilots will open fire on all of you.”

 

“Fuck,” Pattie curses, hurling her blaster at the nearest Stormtrooper’s head. It misses, but only by a small margin.

 

“Now that we have an understanding,” Medusa gestures at one of the troopers. “Bring me that artefact and search the YT-1300 for the other one. We’re going to go on a little field trip.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

  
  
  


Maka has an intimate understanding of what happens to those imprisoned by the Empire, and the last thing she expects is for their group to be escorted not onto the shuttle, but deeper into the valley. She tries to stick close to Soul, but the stormtroopers are practically glued to their prisoners and are intent on making sure that contact between them is minimal. It’s potentially the most competent she’s ever seen them, and it just fucking figures.

  
  


Fortunately, they don’t have to go far for Medusa’s “field trip.” On the plus side, if they can somehow manage to escape, there’s the barest possibility that they might actually be able to make it back to the ship. There is, she’s pretty sure, one remaining Thompson sister still in the  _ Soular Menace _ , though, and that’s a potential bright spot -- if they work together to escape, they might have a faster getaway and some cover. On the other hand, she’s pretty sure they only have Soul’s lightsaber, unless the Demon Clan managed by some miracle to secrete away some weapons. Maka isn’t going to hold her breath.

 

Soul catches her eye over the shoulder of one of the troopers and gives her a small smile that’s supposed to be reassuring. Mostly, he just looks constipated. She keeps an eye on their surroundings and tries to come up with some kind of plan.

 

Medusa leads them straight to the base of the temple. The closer they get, the more her skin crawls. It’s a visceral, oily sensation and all she wants to do is scrub it off, futile though she knows the gesture would be. 

 

“KM-06541, the door.” Medusa gestures and one of the stormtroopers detaches from the rest of the contingent and marches up to a set of stone doors, several stories high. Maka can’t see what the trooper does to try and get them open, but she hears the scream clearly enough. “Well, that was unfortunate. KM-01988, let’s see if you can do better,” Medusa says, sounding bored.

 

The Admiral makes her way through three more of her stormtrooper squad before she finally stops. Soul had kind of hoped that Medusa might just go ahead and exhaust her supply of troops; instead the air smells strongly of burnt plasticine and flesh.

 

“Well, that  _ is _ a shame,” Medusa says, looking thoughtfully at the door, then up at the towering stone walls of the temple. She smiles slowly. “Let’s try something a little different. Bring me the Jedi.”

 

He doesn’t think he’s imagining the sharp noise Maka makes, but he doesn’t have time to worry about it because his stormtrooper handlers are dragging him forward, and if he resists too much, he risks dislodging his lightsaber. The door doesn’t look like anything special when he finally gets eyes on it; the small pile of dead stormtroopers tells a different story.

 

“I don’t know what you think I can do about this that they couldn’t,” he says, nodding at the corpses. 

 

“Do you know where you are, little Jedi?” Her tone is calm, conversational even, but everything about Admiral Medusa Gorgon puts him on edge. 

 

“Korriban,” he says.

 

Medusa rolls her eyes. “You Jedi all think that you’re so clever when you’re really just narrow-minded children. You don’t even learn your own history any longer.”

 

“When are we supposed to learn it? From  _ who _ ?” He snaps before he can control himself. “All of our teachers are dead, our schools destroyed; there’s barely anyone left to  _ learn from _ thanks to the Empire and scum like you.”

 

“I’ll be fixing that soon enough. Korriban,” she says, raising her voice enough to carry across their company, “was once the bastion of the Sith Empire, and we’re in the Valley of the Dark Lords. This is their Great Temple -- they ruled the galaxy from Korriban before, and with my help, they’ll rule again.” It’s so -- Soul’s so flabbergasted he can’t even respond before she’s gesturing imperiously. “Now, open that door, Jedi.”

 

“Are you  _ insane _ ?” 

 

She cocks her head and looks him over. “Of course not. I’m dedicated. Now open the door.”

 

“What makes you think I can?” he hedges again.

 

“We’re trying to enter a temple full of the bodies of deceased Sith Lords, and you’re a Force-user. Consider it a well-educated hunch. I’d suggest you try; after all, I don’t need  _ all  _ of you around.” She pauses and pretends to think. “Let’s start with...you.” Soul supposes that he shouldn’t be surprised when the stormtroopers drag Maka forward. She  _ does _ struggle and fight as they escort her. “Yes, I think that’s an excellent idea. Open the door and I’ll spare our little traitorous TIE pilot.”

 

“And if I can’t?” he asks, even knowing her answer. He’s already examining the door with his Force senses, looking for some kind of indication of how it’s supposed to open. 

 

“I don’t like the word ‘can’t,’ Jedi. I suggest that you find a way.”

 

“Soul, don’t.” Maka isn’t struggling now; her back is straight and her eyes are focused on him. “If anything you told me on the ship was true, you  _ can’t _ do this.”

 

“Aw, have you been telling our pilot  _ stories _ , Jedi?” Medusa smiles, and Maka gets that oily feeling again. “That’s adorable.”

 

She  _ sees _ Medusa pull her sidearm and fire, but she has nowhere to go. She manages to shift enough so that it catches her on the side of her thigh, instead of through her muscle. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t still hurt like a son of a bitch, though. 

 

“How many lies did you tell her to get her to go with you? Something about the end of the universe, I’m sure.” Medusa laughs, the sound like shattering glass against Maka’s ears. It’s nothing that she hadn’t thought to herself as she joined Soul on his quest. He meets her eyes, and decides that it doesn’t matter if he exaggerated anything he’d told her. She can see well enough for herself what kind of monster Medusa is. “So dramatic, you Jedi. We’re not going to destroy the galaxy -- what would be left to rule, if we did?”

 

“Don’t,” Maka says through gritted teeth. She can read the apology in his eyes though, and knows he’s already figured out how to open the door. “Soul.”

 

Medusa raises her blaster again, and Soul raises his hands to the door, surging forward before Maka can say anything else and pressing his palms into the hewn stone. There’s another flash of light, and if she weren’t in tune with the Force, she would have fully expected to see Soul burnt and broken at the foot of the doorway when the light cleared.

 

Instead, Maka can sense the doors, whatever is keeping them locked and guarded, reacting to his touch and the power he pushes into it. They swing open quietly, and Medusa makes a triumphant noise. “Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” 

 

She ushers her squad forward, and Maka stumbles into her captors, playing up her injured leg; they nearly go down and she trips forward, bumping into Black*Star before her forward momentum is halted.

 

“We have to get out of this and stop her,” she hisses at him before she’s being pulled back to her feet by several stormtroopers. Black*Star doesn’t respond, but he does shoot her a look. She can’t completely decipher it, but she’s going to hope that it meant they’d help, and maybe the Demon Clan has a little something up up their sleeves. 

 

Hopefully spare blasters. Or knives. Really, she’d take any weapon at this point. She’s always been an optimist. 

 

***

 

The sensation of being watched only thickens once they’re inside the temple, and as they’re marched down a long, vaulted hall, Soul can sense physical presences as well. He suspects that they’re only quiet because they  _ want _ their group here, that they’ve been expected somehow. They pass several smaller chambers branching off the main area, but they keep moving until eventually the hall dead ends into a large, echoing chamber. The moment Maka limps into the space, her lungs feel smaller and she has to resist the urge to either breathe faster, or to scream. She’s so focused on the sensation that she almost misses the sarcophagus centered in the chamber. 

 

One by one they all filter in, and Soul looks up and extends his senses throughout the space. At one point, nearly too long ago for him to contemplate, someone had come along and transformed simple rock and stone into this enormous tomb -- there’s no denying the skill and craftsmanship that went into the space. Natural stone has been smoothed and carved deep into intricate designs that scroll outward from the sarcophagus, winding outward and arching up the walls. The lingering sense of evil and malcontent permeates the whole space and weighs him down. They’re keeping him separate from Maka, but from what he can tell, she’s feeling the same tug as he is. The sound of Medusa stepping towards the sarcophagus interrupts his thoughts.

 

In addition to her contingent of stormtroopers, Medusa also brought a small entourage with her, and they step forward solemnly. “Crona,” she snaps, and the thinnest of the entourage steps forward, cradling a pyramid shaped holocron. 

 

They place it gingerly on the lid of the sarcophagus; it’s not hard from his vantage point for Soul to see that the detailing on the pyramid completes a pattern on the tomb. A moment later, the holocron begins to glow, and a lanky, hooded figure appears floating above the sarcophagus. 

 

He surveys the chamber, then focuses back on Medusa. “Well, it seems you have finally found my tomb.” 

 

“Lord Asura,” Medusa inclines her head. “I have done everything that you required.” Her voice is barely concealed greed as the holo of the great Sith Lord Asura looks at them. The weight of his gaze is almost tangible, and if Maka didn’t know that this was ultimately just a way to access the Sith’s thoughts and memories, she would have believed that Asura were still alive and walking among them.

 

“Excellent. And you are sure that you’re ready to complete your education in the ways of the Sith? Once you begin the alchemical process, there will be no turning back.”

 

Soul doesn’t think he’s imagining the faint hint of challenge in the holocron’s voice, as if daring Medusa to continue. Not that it would matter -- she doesn’t hesitate in the least.

 

Medusa smiles, holding out both of her hands and her other two officers each place an artefact in her hands. The woman almost drops the cylinder, and Medusa snaps, “ _ Eruka _ .” She flinches, but recovers, and for the first time Medusa holds both artefacts in her hands. “I’m ready to become a Sith,” she says.

 

“Medusa Gorgon, are you fit to claim my power -- the power to destroy worlds? A power so immense that even the Great Jedi Council could not begin to fathom it?”

 

The greed and desire on her face is blatant as she says, “I am.”

 

Asura smiles, and it’s like watching a trap close on an unsuspecting animal. “Then begin. Unlock my tomb and begin your transformation.”

 

“Medusa, you  _ can’t _ \-- it can’t be done!” Soul shouts. “You don’t understand what you’re doing -- you can’t just  _ absorb _ the ability to use the Force!” She ignores him completely. It’s like watching two ships collide; all eyes in the chamber are fixed on Medusa as she brings the two artefacts together. The fusion completes and Medusa holds up her prize. It’s -- it  _ looks _ like the hilt of a lightsaber and Medusa swings it around with a little laugh. The air feels almost thick enough to see and actively malignant.

 

“What do you think this is going to accomplish?” Maka searches for something, anything to distract Medusa. She doesn’t know what’s going to happen next, but she doesn’t need the Force to understand that it’s going to be bad. 

 

Asura’s hologram turns to look at her, and Maka has to stop herself from flinching back: it’s  _ just _ a hologram, she reminds herself. 

 

“Stupid child,” Medusa sneers. “You think you’re going to change the outcome by  _ distracting _ me? With this,” she caresses the melded artefact, “I will imbue myself with the power of the greatest Sith Lord to ever roam this galaxy. I will finally have the power I  _ deserve _ : power enough to destroy planets.” She looks between the artefact and Maka. “And to think, if you’d only known what you had in your hands -- but no matter. It is my turn for greatness.” 

 

Maka remembers the feeling of the medallion in her hand, the sweet, seductive call of power. Is this what would have happened if she’d given in to that sensation? If she hadn’t told Soul about the artefact, if she hadn’t gained some kind of rudimentary Jedi training to resist the pull of that evil power on her mind and her heart? Would they have ended up here anyway?

 

Whatever Medusa is about to start, Maka knows with complete certainty that they can’t let it happen. The stormtroopers have subtly shifted, inadvertently bringing the prisoners closer together, and Maka is able to catch the eyes of Black*Star and his second in command, Tsubaki. Pattie is still staring at Medusa, aghast. They’re all offered a front row show as Medusa activates the cylinder, and Maka can practically  _ hear _ every living being in the chamber stop breathing and then exhale as one when a blade of light appears. To her untrained eye, it’s just a lightsaber, glowing a sickly green and almost mesmerizing, but ultimately just like Soul’s.

 

“In order to begin the transfer process, you now must make the required sacrifices," Asura intones.

 

“Crona, step forward.”

 

For the first time, Maka sees something like hesitance in one of Medusa’s minions. Still, Crona steps forward, though their hands are trembling. “Yes, mo -- Admiral?”

 

Medusa smiles tenderly, her free hand coming up to brush back the pale pink hair threatening to fall into Crona’s eyes. “You know that you have always been my greatest accomplishment. I am so proud of you.”

 

Maka feels like an intruder, caught watching a moment that no one else was supposed to see. Crona stutters a quiet, “Mother,” and Maka thinks that if she weren’t attuned to the Force, she might never have heard it. Next to her, Soul flinches. 

 

“But now,” Medusa continues, “I have to aim higher and fulfill my destiny.” 

 

She presses a small button, and a blade, glinting unnaturally in the light of the chamber, slides out of the bottom of the artefact’s hilt. It’s over in a moment -- a graceful arc and a violent spray of blood. The prisoners watch in stunned horror as Crona falls to the chamber floor and their blood, heedless of gravity or physics, flows into the carved channels lining the floor and up the sides of the sarcophagus. For the first time since learning she could be a Jedi, Maka feels the life force of a living being snuffed out, and her chest aches with it. Medusa just keeps her eyes trained on the holocron. The tomb  _ pulsates _ , and Soul and Maka watch as a tenuous connection is made between sarcophagus, artefact, and Medusa.

 

“The sacrifice of the blood of a loved one has been accepted.” The hologram tilts its head slightly. “Proceed.”

 

“Free,” Medusa snaps. Her carefully crafted calm is beginning to wear away as power pulses through the chamber. The look on her lieutenant’s face is barely short of terror, but Medusa just continues, “Bring me the Jedi.”

 

“ _ NO! _ ” Maka doesn’t realize she’s yelled until everyone turns to look at her. 

 

Medusa smiles, slick and mean. “So the traitor has  _ feelings _ , does she? Eruka, bring her forward!” It takes three stormtroopers and Eruka to drag Maka closer to the sarcophagus, and when they stop, she’s got a clear view of Crona’s unseeing eyes. “I suggest that you cooperate if you would like your traitor friend to live, Jedi,” Medusa says. Eruka raises her blaster and snugs it up under Maka’s chin. 

 

Soul bows his head and lets himself be lead forward by Free. They end up nearly opposite each other, and Soul flicks his gaze up to meet hers, then over towards where the others are being held. She sucks in a breath, not sure if she’s understanding what he’s getting at. He closes his eyes, grits his teeth, and suddenly she can hear him, clear as day in her mind.

 

_ My lightsaber; use the Force, Maka. They’ll help. _

 

It’s all he has time for before Medusa’s raising the knife again -- only to find her arm stuck, mid-air. Maka gets that peculiar sensation of time slowing down again and she narrows her eyes in concentration. 

 

Slowly but surely, enhanced by the power now steadily leaking from the tomb, Medusa’s arm lowers, struggling against Soul’s use of the Force. Eruka’s caught staring at the scene; Maka can sense her distraction. She  _ knows _ where Soul stashed his lightsaber, remembers the feel of it in her hands, and  _ pulls _ . 

 

The lightsaber flies free before anyone knows what’s happening, and Maka uses their inattention to snatch it out of the air. The blade flickers into life as she slams her elbow into Eruka’s chest and wrenches herself free. She gets the tip underneath the blade of the artefact, enough to knock it away from Soul, who falls to his knees and rolls out of the way

 

Which is approximately when all hell breaks loose. As if on cue, the Demon Clan members burst into action, surprising the stormtroopers. Tsubaki is the first to break free, limbs a blur of deadly motion, and she’s knocked out both of her guards and grabbed one of their blaster rifles before Medusa realizes what’s happening. 

 

“Kill them all -- leave the Jedi for me,” Medusa shrieks. “I  _ will _ have Asura’s power!”

 

Maka swings again, forcing Medusa’s attention back to her. “Not if I can help it,” she snarls, Soul’s lightsaber humming angrily against the artefact’s blade. A few stray bolts whiz towards her, and Soul deflects them deftly as he struggles to his feet. Her focus narrows to only Medusa, trusting that the Demon Clan will triumph over the stormtroopers and not just fight their way out and leave, trusting that Soul will be able to deflect any more blaster bolts aimed at her. She’s at a disadvantage, less experienced than either Medusa or Soul with swordplay; she retreats a little and Medusa presses forward.

 

Maka dodges back, just enough out of the way that she’s got some space, and catches Soul’s eye. With a strong Force push, she hurls the lightsaber up over Medusa’s head. Soul catches it and brings it to his hand, whipping it forward towards Medusa’s back. She whirls and dodges; Maka takes the moment to push aside blaster fire. 

 

Somewhat fortunately, she’s able to draw fire away from Soul just by existing, and she focuses, trying to purposefully redirect the bolts back towards their source. She manages one, but it takes all her concentration and she settles for sending them ricocheting into the walls instead. 

 

Pattie snatches up an abandoned blaster dropped by one of the troopers Tsubaki incapacitated and begins firing into the squad with a hellish war cry; Maka’s glad to see that the Demon Clan is living up to their name and, for all intents and purposes, seems to be triumphing over the stormtroopers. She tries to shield Tsubaki from a blast she doesn’t see, fired by a trooper who had looked to be down and out. The dark-haired woman nods her thanks and returns fire. 

 

Maka sees the knife before Soul does, no longer restricted to the hilt of the artefact. Medusa distracts Soul with a well-aimed strike of the artefact’s blade. Maka watches the knife, suddenly held in Medusa’s left hand, as it flashes up so fast she can barely see it. 

 

“Watch out!” she screams, but it’s too late and Soul stumbles backwards, looking shocked. His lightsaber clatters to the stone as he falls, a bright red line across his chest.

 

The sounds of the fight fade away as Soul’s blood drips onto the stone floor, slowly but steadily draining into the carved channels. The sarcophagus pulses with another, stronger, shock of power as Soul’s blood creeps up the side of the tomb, and the look on Medusa’s face - part surprise that her ploy worked, part gruesome pleasure -- is burned indelibly into Maka’s brain. 

 

Maka struggles to breathe, concentrates on the fact that she can still see  _ Soul _ breathing, that she hasn’t felt his life force being extinguished.

 

“The sacrifice of the blood of one who is hated has been...accepted.” For a second, it sounds as if Asura’s hologram is unsure, but it continues hastily, “It will be enough. You know now what you must do, Medusa. Proceed.”

 

She strides forward -- as if her stormtroopers weren’t being attacked, like her lieutenants hadn’t abandoned her -- and stands directly next to the altar. Maka doesn’t think she imagines the way the holocron  _ leans forward _ , as if it is personally invested in what is about to happen next -- which, whatever Maka was anticipating, was certainly _ not _ Medusa taking the knife and slicing open her right wrist.

 

Her blood flows freely onto the tomb, and with a triumphant smirk she plunges the artefact’s glowing blade into the sarcophagus before slumping over on top of it. The final power surge as the circuit completes is enough to nearly knock everyone still standing in the chamber to their knees. It leaves Maka’s throat dry and her ears ringing, and it takes her a moment before she realizes that the sound she’s hearing is actually the soft sound of the hologram chuckling. It raises all of the hairs on her neck, even as she’s struggling to call Soul’s lightsaber to her hand. 

 

“The sacrifice of the blood of the self has been accepted,” Asura laughs, the sound beginning to carry through the chamber. “And now I can live once more!” 

 

Maka can sense Medusa’s life force slipping from her, but just as she’s about to fade away, the tomb thrums with power and Medusa's body jerks. A laugh bubbles out of her lips, but it sounds unnatural. On the sarcophagus, the holocron goes dark. She finally stands, awkward and coltish in her movements, and prods at the wound on her wrist. 

 

“I need more power,” she hisses, voice gone crackling and hot. She sniffs the air, eyes eventually resting on Maka, and when she grins her mouth is full of far too many teeth. “Little padawan, barely more than a youngling’s power. Give it to me. Come to me.” Medusa -- no, she recognizes dimly --  _ Asura _ , beckons her. “You’re not going to make it out of here,” she croons. “Give me that power; it’s wasted on you -- sad little pilot from a sad little broken family.” She tilts her head to the side and the gesture looks hideously unnatural, as though her head might completely separate from her neck. “Poor little Maka, whose mother chose to die rather than keep living with her family.”

 

And that’s true; what does Maka have to offer anyone, much less the galaxy? She couldn’t even keep her mother interested in staying with her, had betrayed the Empire before she’d even graduated --

 

“Maka!”

 

She was wasting her life, wasting her connection with the Force.

 

“Maka,  _ wake up. Fight her _ !”

 

She could give her life and her power for a greater cause, for something bigger than the Empire, even, if only she could get rid of that pesky voice. But sounds so familiar, so comforting in the face of her fears and she  _ wants _ \--

 

***

 

Soul watches Asura steal Medusa’s body from his prone position on the floor; he knows he needs to get up, needs to do something, but he’s so tired and his chest hurts. Helpless, he watches as Maka stills, her grip on his lightsaber going slack, just barely holding on. Asura extends a hand, fingers looking increasingly claw-like, and he’s not sure if that’s because of the blood loss or if it’s actually happening. Maka takes one halting step forward, and Soul sucks in a pained breath.

 

“Maka!” he shouts. She stumbles a little, and he hopes it’s enough to break her out of the trance Asura has her under, but he’s not about to take that chance. “ _ Asura! _ ” Soul yells, trying to distract her, to get her attention -- anything that will be enough to break her hold over Maka. She doesn’t even glance at him, though, just crooks her fingers again and draws Maka a little closer, her steps a little more hesitant.

 

The circuit is complete, Asura is released, and they are all fucked.

 

Except -- except he can sense the tenuous connection that still exists between Medusa’s body, the artefact, and the tomb. He feels it tugging at his own life force, trying to completely drain him -- if it succeeds, the circuit really will be complete. He bites back a cry as he struggles to get up, to get away from the floor carvings trying to drain his body of blood. It seems to be working, but it’s not going to be enough.

 

“Maka,  _ wake up. Fight her _ !” 

 

Maka shudders and stops moving, but she still looks lost. Soul wants to go to her, but he has to trust that she’s as strong as he thinks because now he has to deal with Asura’s attention suddenly being on him. 

 

Medusa’s body moves, and the motion reminds him briefly of a puppet. “You’re still alive,” Asura says. “We can fix that.”


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

  
  
  


Maka feels like her brain’s been wrapped in a woolen blanket and she’s trying to claw her way out of it, back towards the familiar voice, back to…

 

_ Soul _ !

 

She snaps out of it just in time to see Asura loom over Soul, and tightens her grip on Soul’s lightsaber, igniting it in one smooth motion before she’s even had the thought. She won’t let this happen, won’t let Asura or Medusa or  _ anyone _ take Soul from her.

 

Maka can feel the scream building in her lungs, threatening to choke her with anger and rage. She clenches her other fist and bodily pulls Asura away from Soul, too fast for the Sith to react, and slashes at Asura with no finesse, just raw power driving her forward. Asura dodges, smirking with Medusa’s mouth.

 

“ _ Yes _ , beautiful. Don’t you feel the power coursing through you? Give in to your hatred, little padawan.” 

 

Maka can feel herself beginning to reach the end of her endurance, but she's bought enough time for Soul to stagger to his feet -- still clutching at his chest, but at least looking  _ alive _ . He meets her gaze and Maka manages one last push forward, enough to make Asura step back, enough of an opening for Soul to wrap his hand around the hilt of the artefact and pull it free of the sarcophagus.

 

Asura’s look of shock as the artefact is pulled free and the circuit is disrupted is almost comical. As one, Soul and Maka lunge at the Sith Lord. The sickly green blade slides into flesh first and for a moment Maka hesitates, remembering her conversations with Soul during their travels, what she’s learned of the Jedi and of their role in the galaxy. She remembers  _ choice _ . 

 

And then she plunges Soul’s lightsaber through Asura's -- through  _ Medusa’s _ heart. 

 

Killing someone is different than simply sensing them die, she learns. But there’s no time to think of that.

 

“The circuit’s unstable,” Soul hisses, stumbling towards her. Maka catches him, stabilizing him and trying not to aggravate the wound in his chest. The artefact is still on, bathing his face in a putrid light, accentuating the deadly points of his teeth and muddying his eyes to the color of dried blood.

 

“What do you suggest?” 

 

“Well, I’m sure there’s a right way to do this, but I don’t know what it is, so. I’m gonna wing it.”

 

Maka laughs a little, almost unwillingly. On top of the tomb, the holocron flickers back on, Asura once again staring out at them in impotent rage. Soul narrows his eyes and moves slowly towards the holocron, raising the artefact’s blade. 

 

“You don’t want to do that,” Asura says. “It won’t work.”

 

“Oh, I think it might,” Soul says.

 

“No, it -- no, no,  _ stop! _ Think of all the knowledge you’re destroying,” Asura says quickly, shooting panicky looks at the blade. “Think of everything I know about the Jedi, about how things used to be. You don’t have that anymore, but I can give it to you.”

 

Soul stops for a moment, and Maka almost can believe he’s considering it. “No,” he says finally, swinging the blade down to slice cleanly through the holocron. Maka exhales and, using Soul’s lightsaber, begins to score deep furrows in the carefully carved stone, disrupting the power channels into unusable chunks. Soul takes the artefact and swings it against the tomb, hacking it into two. Maka isn’t sure whether or not to be relieved that there’s no physical body within.

 

Slowly, she can feel the dangerous thrum of power begin to dissipate as they break up Asura’s last hold on the physical world until there’s only the artefact-lightsaber left. Soul holds it tightly before looking back at the Demon Clan. In the turmoil, he’d completely forgotten they were there. They’ve completely mopped up the remainder of the stormtrooper squad, and are staring at the Soul and Maka with varying degrees of suspicion. 

 

“Truce?” Maka offers, very aware of their firepower and her own exhaustion.

 

“So are you both evil now, or what?” Black*Star finally replies, one finger resting carefully on the trigger of his stolen blaster rifle. 

 

“Or what,” Soul mutters. Maka glances at him worriedly. He’s pale and sweating, at the end of his adrenaline and ready to collapse. 

 

“We’re fine,” Maka says. Pattie glances over at Soul and raises an eyebrow. “Ok,” she amends. “We’re not fine, but we are also not evil.”

 

“That’s good. It’d be a shame if we had to like...put you down after all of that.” Tsubaki smacks Black*Star on the back of the head for that and he winces. “I meant, yeah. Truce.”

 

Maka breathes a little easier.

 

“I need to try and separate the artefact pieces,” Soul rasps. “I don’t know what’s going to happen. You should go, just to be safe.” Maka looks at him sharply. “Maka, please.”

 

“No. This isn’t up for discussion, Soul.” She turns to face him fully, jaw set mulishly. “I’m not leaving you, especially not when you’ve told me before what it took to break the artefact before.”

 

“Well, I was hoping it wouldn’t be so bad since they’ve already been split once,” he jokes weakly. 

 

Maka’s glare doesn’t lessen. “I’m not leaving.”

 

“Okay.” 

 

“We’re not leaving either,” Tsubaki speaks up. “We don’t know the situation outside, and we don’t want to leave you alone. It’s best to face things together.” Next to her, Pattie nods, grinning, and Black*Star gives her a fond but slightly exasperated look. 

 

“We stay,” he agrees. “You never know.”

 

Soul nods, understanding the implication that, if something went wrong, Black*Star would try to make sure it was taken care of. He holds the cylinder, two handed, and Maka stands in front of him, hands resting lightly over his. Together, they can sense the malignant aura of the artefact, still magnified, but so much less now that Asura’s remnants are gone. She presses her fingers around where the medallion is fused to the cylinder and searches for the cracks, the weakness in the fusion.

 

She’s not expecting the artefact to push back, to try and battle its way back into her mind, picking at hundred little fissures of self doubt and trying to worm its way in. Soul is a steadying presence around her, trying to buffer what he can and bolstering her defenses with -- with --

 

Maka exhales shakily and looks up at Soul, standing so close and warm. She lets herself feel the steady pulse of his affection and breathes it all in. As if it can sense her resolve, the artefact tries to slither further into her mind, whispers gently of the power that she and Soul can wield together, of how they can bring peace and order to the galaxy and end all conflict --

 

“Maka,” Soul whispers, and there’s that surge of affection, of something deeper, something that the artefact has no counter to. 

 

She can practically see the crack now, and she concentrates on how it feels when Soul trusts her with the  _ Mordant Stanza _ , with the way he let her slip into his life, his patience as he tried to teach her, his wicked sense of humor. She doesn’t think about how it felt when she watched him fall because he’s here with her now, and that will always be enough.

 

The artefact makes a discordant humming noise that makes her want to cover her ears, but she presses onward. Soul adds his own feelings to the mix, prying at the cylinder with his pleasure as she took an interest in learning to fight with the lightsaber, with the way she grumpily made caf for them both after she woke up, with her smile and her intelligence.

 

It’s slow going, but the fissures widen and the humming steadily increases until she feels like her bones are going to shake apart. With a resounding  _ crack _ , the artefact breaks apart into its component pieces. Soul barely has time to redirect the kinetic energy being released away from them as it happens, and he cries out, but manages to dissipate it into the air.

 

***

 

Together, they stumble out of the temple in various states of exhaustion and injury, only to find the  _ Soular Menace _ parked at the entrance of the temple and the entire squadron of TIEs clustered around her, their pilots standing around and looking varying degrees of confused and irritated. The captured stormtroopers and Medusa’s two remaining lieutenants lead the way with some judicious prodding from Tsubaki and Pattie. 

 

Liz is clambering out of the  _ Menace _ as soon as she catches sight of their ragtag group, and Soul and Maka are left staring. 

 

“What the hell happened out here?” he finally asks. 

 

Liz Thompson, final member of the Demon Clan, smirks at him. “EMP ray. And once we all got onto the ground, we had a nice friendly chat, seeing as I had all of the working weapons.”

 

Kid steps forward a moment later, and seeing him loosens something in Maka’s chest -- but she doesn’t feel the same sense of coming home, of belonging, that she used to associate with her squadron and with Kid.

 

“Medusa said you’d turned traitor,” he finally says, holding himself back in a way that, if she hadn’t felt it before, would certainly remind her that she was something  _ other _ now, no longer a part of the squadron, of the Academy, of the Empire. He looks around at the group of them, at the number of troopers remaining. “I didn’t believe her.”

 

“I --” she wants to say that it’s complicated, but ultimately -- “Yes. Technically.” She meets his eyes unflinchingly. “I did want I needed to do for the greater good, Kid.”

 

“She needed to be stopped,” Free speaks up, head bowed and looking a little queasy. “She tried to summon something -- she killed Crona.” He stops himself and takes a careful breath. 

 

Next to him, Eruka presses her shoulder into his. “She -- whatever was in there, it wasn’t Medusa any longer,” she says.

 

“I did what I had to do,” Maka says, and she knows it’s true. Kid looks -- she doesn’t have the words to describe the look he gives her, but eventually he just nods.

 

“We were supposed to bring you in today.” He pauses, gathers his thoughts. “I  _ ought _ to bring you in.”

 

“You don’t want to, though,” she says. She doesn’t try to inject any sort of Jedi mind-trickery into her voice. The memory of being controlled is too fresh, too raw, and even if it weren’t, Kid is -- was -- one of her best friends. 

 

“I don't,” he agrees, and looks a little frustrated and a lot resigned. “Medusa never put a bounty on you,” he offers. “My report still has you listed as MIA.” He stares at her for a long moment. “You’re not coming back, are you?” 

 

And that is really the crux of the matter.

 

She shakes her head. “No, Kid. I don’t think I can.”

 

“I know you, Maka Albarn.” She wants to laugh, because she’s not sure if that’s true anymore, but she has to believe that, fundamentally she’s still Maka Albarn, daughter of Suzume and Spirit. Just now, she’s also sort of a Jedi. “If I have any say in it --” he glances back at his squadron, reads the silent support there. “If  _ we _ have any say in it, that report will stay that way.”

 

“And us?” Liz demands.

 

Kid flushes faintly, but grudgingly says, “Your ship was never here and we never saw you.” Liz smiles triumphantly at that.

 

It’s more than Maka had hoped for. She nods. “Thank you, Kid.”

 

“Please don’t thank me for this, Maka. Please.”

 

Next to her, Soul falters a little, and Maka steadies him. “I’ll thank you anyway. You’ve been the best friend I could have asked for.”

 

There’s a low, heartfelt chorus of goodbyes from her former squadron, and she can feel the prickle behind her eyes. As they turn to go, she hears Harvar call out, “Remember, you’re a good person, Maka. But you’re a better pilot!”

 

There’s a wave of laughter at that, breaking the last of the tension, and even though her heart aches, she gives them a jaunty wave and makes a rude gesture at Harvar. As they make their slow, limping way to the  _ Mordant Stanza _ , she whispers, “May the Force be with you.” Soul squeezes her shoulder gently, and if her words carry back to her friends, she will never find out.

 

They wait until all of the ships are clear before the  _ Stanza _ and the  _ Menace _ begin firing on the Sith temple, quietly reveling as the stone crumbles and shatters beneath them.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine: Epilogue

  
  
  


They give the Demon Clan the Eibon artefact, and Tsubaki assures them that they will do their best to take it to the most remote part of the galaxy they can find on their travels. Soul suggests they find a lovely volcano to drop it into, or maybe a dying sun. They keep the Entralla artefact. Maka hates having the medallion on board, but she can’t argue with the idea that they’re also always on the move, never staying for very long in one place. Just because they weren’t actively being hunted by the Empire didn’t mean they wanted to tempt fate.

 

It’s not ideal, but she has Soul and freedom, and she can make this work.

 

They don’t talk a lot about what happened on Korriban. Maka still wakes up in a cold sweat sometimes, forever dreaming that she’s walking closer and closer to that hungry, murderous gaze. Sometimes she wakes up and still feels the power of her rage and her hatred, and those dreams terrify her even more. Soul wakes up unsettled and overly warm -- he thinks it’s probably a good thing that he can’t remember what he dreams about most nights.

 

If they figured out that each other’s presence soothed their nightmares, well. Soul’s quarters have a bunk that’s large enough if they curl together. They’ve both been changed in ways that they don’t want to admit or want to talk about, but Maka thinks one day they’ll be ready. Until then, she’s got Jedi training and Soul’s irritated face when she fixes something he can’t and the slow, sleepy smile he gives her when they wake up tangled together. That’s enough.

 


End file.
